The first time Tim saw her she was sitting at a bar, and he didn't have the kindest of opinion based on his first look. She had a mane of dark curls a cigarette between her lips, dusty cowboy boots halfway to her knees, a man's shirt tucked into a pair of shorts that were all but nonexistent, and a greasy man on her left trying to buy her a drink. A prostitute, that was his first thought of her.

"This ain't baseball. I said no the first time I'm sayin' no now, third time you won't just strike out I'll break your damn nose."

Tim sat a seat down from her hearing the man mumble, "bitch," as he walked away. His opinion had changed, she obviously wasn't a prostitute.

"Now that wasn't very nice," the bartender told her as he stood in front Tim. "What can I get you?"

She rolled her eyes taking a long drink as the guy who'd sat down gave his order. "Anyone tells you I'm nice they're lyin'," she said when the bartender poured more whiskey in her glass.

The older man smiled. "It's on the house, you look like you had a shitty day."

"More like the whole week," she muttered gladly accepting his alcohol.

"This one," he said to Tim, "comes all the way from Harlan for my whiskey."

Tim nodded believing it. "Everyone buys the cheap shit 'cept for you," he agreed looking at the dark haired woman beside him wondering if she was in the system. It seemed like most of the people in Harlan had a record, it'd be more surprising if he didn't know her. "You know a Raylan Givens?" The first time since he'd sat down he got a full view of her face as she turned to him, and if he'd seen her face first he'd have known she wasn't a whore. It wasn't that she was beautiful, which she most certainly was, there was something in the way she sat there with no makeup barely dressed not trying to be anyone but herself.

She stared at the man no more than three years older than her, her eyes falling to his belt looking for a badge. "You a Marshal too?"

He smiled at her answer, or rather that she didn't answer, recognizing she did in fact know Raylan and that she'd probably spoken to several Marshals in her lifetime. "Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson," he said holding out his hand.

"It's nice to meet you Tim," she greeted as she shook his hand. Again he smiled, or grinned – she wasn't sure since his eyes didn't entirely smile with him. Either way he was handsome, wearing a button-up and slacks with his hair neat. There weren't many guys as put together as him or Raylan in Harlan, and she knew exactly how he'd look at her if he knew who she was. "Lyla," she told him simply.

His brows rose when she returned her small hand to her side without offering anything else. That should've been his first warning, but he'd caught sight of her long legs. "Well now I have to know who you are."

She downed the rest of her whiskey, enjoying the fire in her throat, and shook her head. "You wouldn't be talkin' to me if you knew who my family was," she told him, he already knew she was from Harlan so he'd have a pretty good idea what kinda person she was – he just didn't know who exactly, and the exact who is what'd turn him away.

That should've been his second warning. He should've nodded, paid for her drink, and left it at that. He should've done a lot of things that night but he did nothing to stop it, cause then she leaned closer and told him, "what happens next is up to you, Tim Gutterson," and then she turned away. There was no smile, no batting her eyes, nothing to show she was at all interested in what happened next; she was leaving it all up to him. And there was something irresistible in a woman who didn't try to be sexy – it either happened or it didn't. Be it her hair, which was so wild it spanned the width of her shoulders daring him to tangle his hands in her curls, or her full pretty mouth that formed around the words 'thank you' as the bartender refilled her glass. Whatever it was, which simply could've been the fact that she still hadn't looked back at him and he wasn't used to that, he turned to the man behind the bar and pointed to her glass. "I'll have what she's havin."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth but her eyes didn't soften – there was something cold in her stare, and it wasn't just how strikingly pale of a blue they were, but it burned. If it weren't for that smile, which was nothing more than the curling of half her mouth, he might've come to his senses and turned away. But she was beautiful and different, she was unknown territory; and hell if he didn't like a good puzzle.

Which is how he found himself several glasses and an hour and a half later with sweat on his chest nearly panting as he rolled off of her. He turned to see her eyes on the ceiling, her hair splayed out around her head like a dark halo – it'd almost surprised him when he got close enough to find beneath the smoke he could smell flowers. A lot of things surprised him about her. "You want a beer?"

She turned to him, brows knitted with curiosity. "I'm good," she said watching him give a curt nod before he pulled on his briefs and left the room. She'd seen the army tattoo on his wrist, she hadn't said anything of it and he didn't offer – and alcoholics were nothing new to her, which she now wondered if he was considering how many glasses of whiskey they'd knocked back.

Tim returned to his room to find his bed empty. If it weren't for a sudden warm breeze he might not have noticed her sitting at the window. Her skin was pale as the moonlight, her dark hair blending into the shadows on the wall behind her, and he just stood in the doorway staring at her. "You always smoke after sex?" he asked watching her blow smoke into the night. It said something about her that she'd gone to the window, that she hadn't assumed. She was a hard woman to read, an hour of talking later he still didn't know what kind of a person she was; what he did know was that she was considerate enough to not taint his house with her cigarette.

She found herself almost smiling as she answered. "I do when it's good." She should've gone with the pervert at the bar – all she needed was a bed for the night and he probably would've passed out as soon as he came. But then Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson had sat down and she'd thought hell why not enjoy the night, she hadn't give any thought to liking him but she was getting damn close. She looked up when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye to see him moving to sit beside her, an almost smug look on his face at her admitting the sex was good.

She was as naked as when he left her, and he liked that she hadn't gone for his shirt as another woman might've done – maybe because it showed she was comfortable in her own skin or maybe because she didn't care, or maybe he just enjoyed the view. He could see the place where her stomach folded from how she sat, could see the width of her thigh. She sat baring every imperfection and yet she gazed at the stars without a care in the world for what he thought of her. "You'd stay the night whether or not I offered," he said already knowing the answer but he wanted to hear her reason.

"If it makes it better I'll be gone fore you wake up," she said seeing him smirk as he raised the bottle to his mouth – that was all she needed to know to wake up before sunrise. "I still gotta talk to Raylan."

He turned to her at that, knowing what she hadn't said. "You used me for a bed," he said remembering that small curling of her mouth from the bar – she'd known he would say yes before she even offered. He'd been a mouse and she'd sunk her claws in.

She smiled then, seeing a mix of impressed and erection. "I used you for the sex too," she admitted earning herself a quiet laugh from him. Everything about him was quiet, and still – he was both calming and off putting.

They sat quietly for several minutes, it wasn't uncomfortable and it wasn't heavy, they just sat there breathing feeling both infinite and temporary. He didn't know how much time had passed since they stopped talking only that it was so rare to find someone who didn't need to fill every silence with idle words, that sometimes it was okay to just be. And he turned to her wondering if she was thinking the same but he didn't have to wonder too long. He'd learned from his time watching his targets that every person had a face they made when no one was looking, and Lyla had the saddest face he thought he'd ever seen. What he wouldn't have given to see inside her mind, to find out who this woman he'd let into his home was. But he didn't ask; he wasn't that kind of man and he knew she was the kind of woman who would've left just to avoid answering. So instead he asked, "you ever gonna tell me your last name?" He watched the mask fall into place before she looked at him, and he had a feeling from the way she didn't try to smile that she knew he'd seen her.

"If you really wanna know you could go down to Harlan and ask, just about everyone knows me," she told him, honestly wondering if he'd bother – not like it'd matter, as soon as he found out he'd be on his way back to Lexington without looking back.

"Alright, Lyla with the hair," he said smiling when she gave a short laugh. That laugh had surprised her, he could see it in the way she raised a hand to her mouth – she wasn't used to laughing. God he wanted to know her. "What were you thinking about?"

She looked at his face to see honest curiosity in his eyes. It hit her, she'd made a huge mistake with him. "Ask me the next time you see me," she said pulling herself to her feet. "If you still wanna know," she added as she climbed in the bed, feeling his eyes burning her skin. She waited as he threw his bottle in the trash, turning to see his gun was on the nightstand where he'd removed it – she didn't like that it was in reach.
Her brother had been in Afghanistan and he'd come home with several stories and a handful of nightmares that eventually worked themselves out. But before they had she'd come into his room when he was napping one day, she didn't even remember what she wanted, but she'd startled him awake and he'd grabbed his gun and pulled the trigger – lucidness had returned quickly and he found her standing white as a sheet with a bullet half an inch from her head in the door frame.
That was now two things she had to do; the first being to take the clip out of Tim's gun after he fell asleep, and the second was to leave before sunrise. He laid on his back beside her and she turned to him. "What happens next is up to you."

Hearing those words for a second time that night had him rolling toward her. "You want there to be a next," he said wondering if that was the intention behind her words – because on a second listen he could hear there was something else she was saying that he couldn't quite make out.

Her smile was gentle, just a twitch of her mouth, but there was something genuine in it. "I haven't decided yet," she told him, catching the slight raising of his brow. "If you leave it to me I'll just be gone in the morning, and when my family gets outta prison and you Marshals come after 'em I'll pretend like I don't know you. And where's the fun in knowing what'll happen?"

He couldn't shake the feeling she was playing him, or playing with him. He'd seen it at the bar in her little smirk before she turned to him and smiled, before they started talking; there was something hiding under her skin and she wasn't letting him see it. "You seem to know what I'll do when I find out who you are."

Oh he really was a mistake, she could see in his eyes he was interested in knowing her – actually knowing her – and if she had more will power she'd have stopped by now. But she couldn't seem to make herself. "Expectin' ain't the same as knowin," she said taking note of the way his eyes were trained on hers, there was no movement just watching. Looking. "But I suspect you'll call on me, least one more time. See if I live up to tonight."

"Is that so?" he asked wondering if she'd read his curiosity, if she'd read him before he could read her.

Her grin would've put the Cheshire cat to shame. "You're used to lookin' at someone and knownin' what kinda person they are. And you've been lookin' at me all night. But you're never gonna know me Tim Gutterson. What I can't figure is if you'll take that as a challenge or a sign to stay away. So 'next' is up to you." She turned on her back and faced the ceiling, letting his mind go wherever it decided, feeling the long drawn out minutes before he turned away and then even more before he fell asleep. She felt him go, his body relaxed his breathing deepened. She quietly sat up and went around the other side of the bed to unload his gun, knowing better than to lean over him when that would just wake him. And then she looked down at his half-lit face – he really was handsome – thinking having a Marshal in her back pocket might not be such a bad thing.

The moment he opened his eyes Tim knew he was alone. Even still he turned to his left expecting to see her dark hair fanning the pillow as she slept. Maybe even hoping for it. It took him a moment, several moments of laying back wondering if she'd been half as interesting as his partially drunken mind remembered, before he smelled the smoke. He turned to the nightstand to see a cigarette as it burned out; and he knew he'd missed her by less than five minutes.

It wasn't until he got to work that he realized he didn't have to go to Harlan to find out who she was, Harlan's desk was right next to him. "Hey Raylan, do you know a Lyla?"

"Hair out to here?" Raylan asked holding both hands out to his shoulders.

Tim nearly smiled as he nodded. "That's the one."

Raylan looked at the younger man a moment before laughing. "Shit. She didn't tell me who she shacked up with just that he'd ask. I take it it's you?" Raylan continued chuckling at realizing Tim was on his way to smitten – he hadn't even said hello, the first thing out of that boy's mouth had been Lyla. As she'd known. "Lyla Crowder," he said watching that name hit Tim like a slap in the face. "Came to talk to me about shooting Boyd."

"Her brother?"

"Mmhm," Raylan hummed in agreement, a grin pulling on his mouth as he watched Tim sit down without another word.

Crowder. Tim wished he'd have seen that coming, should have seen that coming – she'd warned him a handful of times her last name changed everything. Bo Crowder was notorious among law enforcement, was the biggest meth dealer in all of Kentucky before he was incarcerated. And Tim had just spent the night with his daughter.
"Shit."


This is an idea I've had for quite some time, and I just started watching the fifth season and the idea came back and this time I'm gonna try to write it. So let me know what you think so far, cause Tim is a hard character to write, and what you thought of Lyla cause I'm hoping she'll turn out being a character you just can't guess what she'll do and whether or not she's actually good. Thank you very much for reading.