Raylan was a thick-headed son of a bitch.

It had been said on more than one occasion, and by more than one person, but as a general rule, he didn't buy into it much.

Some might consider that case and point.

But really, it wasn't right. He wasn't thick-headed, and he wasn't oblivious. Hell, he liked to think he had a better grasp on what was going on around him than most. He knew when the office switched coffee brands, when the receptionist got a haircut, when Rachel was on her Time of the Month, and when Art was on his.

He wasn't a thick-headed son of a bitch.

Until he was.

Because damn, only one thick-headed son of a bitch could've missed this.

Come Friday evening, Raylan couldn't wait to be home. After that business up in Noble's Holler with Quarrel and Limehouse and the rest of Harlan's crookedest earlier that week, not to mention Tom's funeral, he was ready to retreat to his apartment over the bad and bury himself in the bottom of a bottle 'til Monday rolled around.

It was getting late, and most people had cleared out a couple hours ago. Raylan had been finishing up some paperwork – Art would've been proud, if he hadn't skidaddled as soon as the clock struck five a couple hours ago – but now he'd dotted his last I and crossed his last T, and it was time to head home.

So, with nothing by the skeleton shift to keep him company, Raylan headed for the locker rooms to get his shit before he put the office in his rearview and got started on that long-overdue brush with alcohol poisoning.

Only, he found out when he stepped inside that he wasn't quite as by-his-lonesome as he thought.

Sitting just inside the locker rooms was U.S. Marshal Deputy Tim Gutterson, his locker door hanging wide open and his attention set on the bottle of pills he was shaking into his hand.

"Good thing random drug checks were last week, huh?" Raylan said as he walked inside.

Tim knocked back the pills in one fell swoop and then raised his head to track Raylan over to the opposite bench. "It's ibuprofen," he said, his voice just a little thicker of a mutter than usual. "Ain't no one ever got in trouble for ibuprofen."

"With the dose you just knocked back, they might make an exception. That's a pretty hefty handful of pills."

"Pretty hefty headache."

For a second, Raylan was surprised. That was awful blunt. None of that "it's nothing" or "mind your own damn business." But then, he guessed that was Tim for you: no sugar-coating. He didn't whine like a bitch, either; he told you what was what, and that was that.

Raylan had always liked that about the guy.

He relaxed a little. It wasn't that he'd pegged Tim for the pill-popping junky type, but given all the shit he'd grown up around, there was a part of Raylan that always had to wonder. But there wasn't a soul going to get a buzz from ibuprofen, and Raylan could breathe easier knowing his partner hadn't taken up any…bad habits.

"You tried eating something?" Raylan said as he started in on his locker. He was really gonna have to clean it one of these days. Him or the CDC – he'd see which one got forced into it first. "Cup of coffee, even? Helps sometimes."

"I'm fine," Tim said.

There it was. Only, with Tim, it wasn't so much bravado like Raylan was expecting as a little bit of resignation. Like the sigh of a dog knowing he wasn't gonna get any table scraps so why even bother asking.

Glancing back, though, Raylan decided that the other deputy sure didn't look fine. His normally-neat hair was all tousled and sticking up in places like he'd been running his hands through it – a habit of Tim's, he'd noticed. His eyes had dark rings around them like someone'd punched him a couple times and left him with shiners for his trouble. They made him look even more skeletal than the scrawny guy normally did, especially against his sheet-pale skin.

But then, Tim wasn't an idiot, and he was a full-grown man. An Army-fucking-Ranger. If he couldn't look after himself, what hope did the average folk like Raylan have?

"Alright," Raylan said finally. He'd finished getting what he needed out of his locker and closed the door with a sharp slam.

Tim winced.

"Shit," Raylan said. "Sorry." He made sure to be a lot quieter putting the lock back in place and opening the door to the office. "Guess I'll see you 'round."

He didn't quite catch Tim's answer as the door closed behind him.