Raylan Givens was not a patient man. He had instincts for when someone was keeping secrets from him, and Deputy Tim Gutterson was definitely keeping secrets. It wasn't just Raylan's neck hair that said so, the other member of their little team concurred.

Rachel Brooks flicked a glance at Raylan. He made a puzzled face, she raised her eyebrows in response, then Raylan caught on. Tim was humming. A tune. It was even sort of recognizable as music. And that was Tim these days, humming, relaxed, mysterious text messages that made him smile, chuckle to himself and ping back a fast reply.

It was downright unnerving. The change was sort of gradual, six weeks before Tim had got the shout to go to Louisville, big takedown, more than one sniper pulled in to do the job. Raylan had no idea what had gone down, but Tim came home grinning from ear to ear, and that was when it started.

The next week brought three days in Cincinnati, and suddenly Tim was almost a new man. Then there was the odd day here and there, until three weeks ago.

Three weeks ago brought Happy Tim to life. Humming. Laid back in ways that Raylan and Rachel had never seen before. Even Art was impressed.

Tim was good at hiding his problems. And that was what was so very odd. Normally suggest they might go for a drink and Tim was there instantly, they were all sure that he drank alone as well, then three weeks ago, Raylan suggested a drink, Tim had come along with Rachel and Art, and ordered a cranberry juice. Rachel had leaned across and whispered into Raylan's ear that maybe he might like to close his mouth, the stranded goldfish gape was not a good look.

The three of them had hedged around the subject until Art had made a comment about cranberry juice and urinary infections that was just too much information, and Tim had just grinned, "need a clear head, got an important date tonight…" and had then refused to be drawn on the subject of who and how and where.

It had set a pattern. The only reason for Happy Tim, this mellow and this laid back would have to be that young Master Gutterson had got himself a lady.

A stage was reached where even Rachel was openly admitting that she wanted to know.

All it took was that quirky little Gutterson smile, the one that said I was a Ranger sniper, I used to sit in a shitty little bunker waiting around for days to take a shot, d'ya really think y'can out-wait me? Raylan glanced across at Rachel. Rachel narrowed her eyes. Oh yes, Gutterson was going down.

Then there was three weeks of nothing but Happy Tim with a near constant smile on his face, an erratically beeping phone, and a lot less alcohol. Some days he would turn up in the clothes he wore the night before, change in the locker room with a different kind of smile on his face. Satisfied, purring, that sort of smile. The look that Lady Chatterley must have worn on her way back from the woodshed.

Luck had to break Rachel and Raylan's way some time. Because this exercise in frustration was making Raylan tired.

It took a fugitive, the FBI, and a big standoff in the middle of Lex to bring them closer to the conundrum of Tim's unusually responsive mood.

FBI on point, the Marshals standing behind to scoop out the fugitives they were certain they had, and SWAT.

The FBI in charge was an idiot. It didn't take Raylan ten seconds to work that one out. Art wasn't happy. They were pulling weapons and vests from the backs of their vehicles as Art tried to get some further information on the plan.

Raylan didn't see her at first, he was getting his vest on, and checking his weapons, pulling out a shotgun. Rachel was busy getting her stuff organized and Tim was just standing there, baseball cap on backwards, ready to go to war with his sniper rifle resting in his arms like an old friend.

"Hey Gutterson!"

Tim turned. "Oh NO! That's no fair Evers."

Raylan looked up to see the cause of that tone in Tim's voice. One of the SWAT team was coming towards them, not that unusual, but a woman? Definitely a little unusual. Raylan had thought he knew all the SWAT team members, but this woman was new. She was rather plain, in her thirties he guessed, she had this shit-eating grin on her face and there was a light in her eyes which goosed Raylan's neck hair. When Raylan turned to Tim he could see something in his face too, in the restless blue eyes that were sweeping over her, and Raylan just knew that this was the answer to the conundrum of Happy Tim.

"I come bearing gifts." She was bearing a sniper rifle of even greater size than Tim's. Which was the cause of the Oh No. The massive fifty-caliber weapon had support rests, and ten round mag that the SWAT cop had already loaded into the gun.

Tim actually made a childish sort of grabby-motion with his hands. Raylan shot a glance at Rachel, and they stared round-eyed. Tim never did that sort of thing.

Evers grinned, handing over a strange looking piece of ordnance that Raylan recognized as a Cornershot, and a Glock to go with it. "I'm sure I don' have to tell you how to work it."

Since Tim was already putting the gun into the Cornershot, Raylan was sure that diagnosis was correct.

Tim was making pleased noises, and Raylan watched as Evers entered personal space territory. Something that both Rachel and Rayland knew not to do.

Tim didn't even flinch. Part of his take down routine was to get himself into the right mental balance, and that included having his personal space clear of his fellow human beings.

Or perhaps fellow human beings that did not speak sniper. Evers obviously spoke sniper. Not just sniper, but Tim sniper. That made all the difference.

Raylan watched, their heads were close together, but there was nothing that overt, he wasn't quite close enough to hear what was being said, but whatever it was, Tim's face went from happy to tense in a few seconds.

"Care to share?" Raylan asked, as the hairs on the back of his neck rose like a dog's hackles.

"Deputy… Givens," Raylan acknowledged his name with a nod, "my Captain thinks the head fibbie is a jackass, and he really would rather none of his team dies today as a result of that. He wants Tim and me to double team it." Evers nodded.

He couldn't place the accent, it wasn't Kentucky that was for sure. This was hardly the time or place for that, so he turned to look where she indicated. Art and a man dressed in the black SWAT uniform walking towards them, deep in conversation. Neither looked happy.

Something very like dread washed through Raylan then. Not that he couldn't do the necessary, but that people he cared about were going to be put into the firing line because the leadership was incompetent.

People like Tim.

Raylan Givens had been all about the not getting attached, not renting a proper apartment, never really unpacking, never letting his colleagues under his guard. He was sorta fond of Art, because they knew each other from Glynco, but Rachel and Tim were just office buddies. He drank with them, sometimes, he had barbecue with them, sometimes, and sometimes they spent time together in cars or on planes. There was proximity.

Well it seemed as though proximity had given way to something a little more personal. He looked across at Tim, the handy office sniper, who was so much more than just the go to guy for hostage situations and shoot outs.

He looked then at Rachel, and wondered for the first time if all she saw in him was a good-looking white guy with a shit-load of swagger – her words. He looked at her and hoped that he was more than that. His detachment had led him to a lonely place.

And this was not the damn time to be thinking about his own short-comings as a partner, a friend he hoped, and the office screw-up.

The SWAT Captain said something to Tim and Evers, Raylan didn't catch what it was, but it was enough to drop them both into Ranger mode. He's seen Tim become that other thing before, the skilled hunter, but watching Evers do it, exactly the same, he can almost reach out and touch the force which is rolling off them in waves. That's just a little freaky.

Then Art motioned to him and Rachel, and he went over to talk about their positions and what Art thought they ought to do. The next time he looked, Tim and Evers were gone.

Art wasn't happy. His team were scattered. SWAT wasn't happy either. And the FBI were screwing up in a way that was going to get either a Marshal or some of the SWAT team killed.

The FBI had their own sniper, a man called Calder, he couldn't match either Tim or SWAT's sniper, but Clarke, the fibbie asshole in charge had given him the prime position, and a big hole in the defence. Art had lodged his protest, as had Captain Murfield. Now it was wait and see.

Art really hated wait and see.