Protective Chicken Wire

by sophie1670

Tim has a "bad experience," and winds up Miami with our well-hatted hero... and the bane of his existence. Will have language and eventual smut. Revised to make sense. I own nothing, etc

Now

Michael Roman eyed the US Marshals like they were ants. Ants he hadn't decided were worth his magnifying glass.

Tim watched Davy Roman's gaze flit between his uncle and his grandfather. It was just them he had left, Davy had explained, them and his twin.

Tim had opened his mouth to tell him the truth. That he knew his twin, knew she was sharp and deadly and beautiful.

Then Davy had said he needed his help.

It had been too easy. It was too soon. He wasn't supposed to look for her. He was sure she would hold this against him. Maybe.

It wasn't like their relationship consisted of a lot of conversation. Just sex and violence. Fields they both excelled in.

So, Tim went to Florida, using an invitation form Davy to piggyback onto Raylan's case. He couldn't deny the role-reversal was pretty sweet, but he was hoping for happier ending. He still had Raylan's copy of "the Friends of Eddie Coyle" to give him back anyway. Raylan had taken to Tim's presence with a mild sense of perturbment and a generous handshake and man-hug. Shaking his head at the offer of the book back with a relaxed smile.

Raylan Givens seeming at peace was more unnerving than his surreptitious stalking of his friend's sister.

Raylan's new boss, Greg Sutter, however, was a laid-back professional who made him miss Art's guidance even more. He'd called Art to let him know what he was doing in the vaguest terms, but Art was in the RV with Leslie, God knew where, and couldn't talk him out of it.

Tim watched Michael like Michael watched Raylan, who was letting Greg do the talking. Greg was saying, "If St. Thomas is attacking your family, then cooperation is your only option."

"St. Thomas is just trying to scare us. We'll be fine," Michael, Junior, also known as, Mikey, said, glaring at Davy. "He won't actually hurt anyone."

"He torched the trailer," Davy said flatly. "you took the wrong asshole's money."

"How much money are we talking?" Raylan asked, from his spot at the conference table in the Miami office.

"There is no money," Mikey said.

There was a disruption in the bullpen, behind them and Michael Roman, Senior's gaze shifted to Tim, unblinking. Raylan rose, a glance at Tim, acknowledging that he had noticed Senior's attention.

The bullpen disruption was Daphne. Tim would have put however much money on it being her. Consequently, he didn't turn to look at her.

Senior quirked an eyebrow at him. His dead-eyed stare finally taking interest in something in the room. Raylan returned with an indescribably grimy, mess of a woman next to him, who could still take his breath away.

Granted, for a different reason now.

She was battered. Her hair was blackened with grease and dirt, in a messy topknot on her head. There was a scrape on her cheek and one butterfly bandaged gash at her hairline, another at her cheekbone, dirt from wherever still on her face. Her black tee was ripped and grimy and her cargos were missing pockets. Most importantly, her knuckles were bruised and busted open.

A million miles away from the woman he knew, in so many ways. "Your evil twin has arrived," Tim deadpanned, not turning his head to further suppress his heart rate through sheer force.

"Yup." Davy cocked his head, poker face intact, "you ok?" He said it to his sister but his eyes were on Tim.

Senior's lip had begun to curl.

"Fine," she said, voice short with stress. Lucky her, he was not near ok.

She finally pushed her way in, eyes taking in the room, stopping on Tim, "Deputy?"

"You've met?" Davy voice took a glowering tone.

"Yes," she said it simply, just turning back to her family. A family she stayed across the room from. Davy squinted at them both and nodded to his sister, no one made a move her way. Not a real warm welcome.

Senior's eyes flickered between them. A gesture, Tim felt, that she had assuredly noticed, and probably Raylan too.

"My sister, Daphne Roman," Davy offered to the room while looking at Tim curiously.

He couldn't breathe, she was finally in the same room and they couldn't go to one another. Touch each other. He couldn't even tell if she wanted to. She wouldn't look back at him.

He'd spoiled everything they'd shared with his temper tantrum.

Greg, for his part, just nodded to her and turned back to the rest of the Romans, "We can offer protection... for anything you may know of St. Thomas's operation."

Junior looked to his father and spared half a glance to his niece, "Naturally, we understand your perspective but certain things are...in flux."

"No, they aren't," Daphne said flatly.

"Not here to help the family that raised you?" It was Michael Roman's first speech, with a smooth and silky delivery, he didn't give any clue that he had spoken in their presence.

"The one that disowned me after trying to sell me off? Oddly enough, no, old man. I'm here to keep you from getting Davy killed."

Whether it was the dredging of the past or the accusation that they could hurt Davy, Michael stood up to his full height, still a head over Daphne, and said, voice low but no less thundering, "I will run this family as I see fit. That rule hasn't changed. No matter what you've been up to since you left. If you're not here to help preserve what we've built here-"

"What you built with the money Mom was supposed to use to abort Davy and me?" she kept her voice as low and silky as his, making his right eye twitch. "We're protecting what you built with that?"

"Your mother-"

"Was just what you raised her to be," Daphne finished flatly.

"She was also a damn sight more obedient than you!"

"And we see where it got her."

"If you were half as obedient we wouldn't be in this situation."

"You think you wouldn't have been this greedy if I'd married who you wanted? Particularly given the intellectually ambitious specimen you had in mind? The one that's been dead for years? "

"I think having you married would have gotten us more room to work with. And it's not like you would have had to put up with the brain trust for long. "

She rolled her eyes, "So, you'd still have stolen… whatever and I'd be on the hook for it?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Daphne," he sneered, stepping forward to get in her face, "If we'd known Cruz was that ballsy or Mikey that dumb, it would have gone a different way, of course."

She turned to the marshals, "Who's Cruz?"

Raylan flipped through his files, diligently letting her interrogate Michael Roman, the man who hadn't spoken in front of a lawman in months, possibly years. "There's a Gabriel Cruz, Cuban national. Only connection with St. Thomas is that he's a club dealer."

"So, either Cruz took it from Mikey while he was moon-eyed? Or Cruz was supposed to turn it, cut that and deal it and took advantage of the situation and bounced?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

Michael was nose to nose with Daphne now and Tim wasn't the only marshal standing up straight. He moved slow, yes, but deliberately and if he took a swing at her Tim was going to take his arm off.

"You trying to play me, young lady?"

"You gonna let me?" She was still the hellion that had blackmailed a justice department official in front of a US attorney, so at least that hadn't been a lie. In the months without her, he'd wondered if everything had been a lie.

"You're a traitorous bitch, and I'm ashamed I raised you," Michael whispered it, like it would hurt more that way.

It might have if it looked like she'd had any feelings left. Instead, she just whispered back wearily, "Me too."

His eyes narrowed at her and his lip curled into a snarl, before he stalked past her and left. The uncles followed without a second look. Davy shrugged and said, "Thank you, deputies, but I think we'll have to finish this later." He stood and motioned to his sister, "C'mon, ducks, let's get you checked out. You look like shit."

Daphne did not want Davy with her at the doctor's, Tim would be worse, but Davy was bad. It wasn't that she didn't love or hadn't missed her brother. But she had head trauma and was pretty sure a couple of cracked ribs. Marc Babineaux was a reservist now, but used to be on another team. He was super laid-back and knew more than most about what her day job really consisted of. It would be awkward with Davy there, and Marc wouldn't be able to ask certain questions.

As it was, she must look as tired as she was feeling. Davy didn't say a word except, "So, you've met Tim."

It was a statement, not a question.

She'd taken a weary sigh, "There was a thing and he was there and- "

"Later. You really do look like death. But Grandpa saw the way you two looked at each other, so it is a conversation to have," he said grimly, keeping his distance.

Daphne watched her brother drive her rental as he ignored her. He had a gray hair or two around his temples, probably a remnant from their unknown father. All the men of her mother's family seemed to be keeping their black hair into their seventies. He had wrinkles around his eyes, from the sun as much as stress. Being a special forces instructor was hardly a low stress career choice.

He shared her black eyes and dark hair, but where she was slim and lithe, he was all bulky muscle. A proper gypsy. He looked like the brawler he was raised to be. Daphne watched the set of his jaw and said softly, "You can go home. We don't need to have anything to do with it." But she knew the answer already. He'd invested favors in protecting them. He'd pulled away from her, his twin, to put their protection first. Did he even expect her to come when he'd called?

He clinched his jaw and replied, "They raised us. They can help put him away. And, whether this is a motivating factor for you or not, it's the right thing to do."

She knew better than to react. Davy had his own ideas about her motivations, and they weren't terribly kind at times. "Why did you involve the law? That's not our way."

"Our way?" she hit the right button, as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. "Our way? You abandon this family for seventeen years, and they're 'our ways'?"

So, that was the problem. Daphne could work with that. "I was sent away. However, you remember that, I was a fifteen-year-old child and I was cast out. And, yes, I've spent more time out than in at this point, but I've recognized the futility in pretending those men didn't raise me."

Davy didn't look at her when she got out, but he grabbed her bags from her so she didn't have to carry them in.

It took twenty more minutes before Marc was available. He took one look at her and found her a room, sending Davy to get her food while she took a blissful hot shower, washing her hair twice and feeling somewhat clean for the first time in almost a week.

She had on a gown, knowing better than to dress in more than panties. She had him check her legs first, as soon as he'd finished flashing his light in her eyes, no concussion, just so she could get on shorts before Davy came back. Marc gave her a look for the swollen ankle she hadn't realized she'd had and couldn't remember, and said, "You were a damn spy, don't you know you need to take care of yourself?"

"I'm about to tattoo my face on my face to get out of that," she said, relaxing under the gentle massage.

He smirked. "So, what's stopping you? Not right that you're used a pawn for favors between DC assholes."

She shot him a look under her lashes as he moved to clean a scabbed cut on her upper arm. "What did you hear?"

"About your last job? It was a little domestic."

He said it so innocently, with such double entendre. "What did you hear?" she repeated.

"Heard you blew your cover to save a lawman," he made eye contact for that. "No reward, but I'm sure you did the right thing. Nice to see you being human like the rest of us. And I didn't hear you blew the assignment, so, points for that."

She swallowed, not realizing how much approval she needed. "Thanks."

"Still looks like the shit hasn't finished hitting the fan about it though."

She grimaced, "Fun to imagine. Why do you say that?"

He motioned for her to sit up and he stood behind her as she pulled off the gown so he could look at her back. His intake of breath told her what she need to know about the bruise pattern. "I hear things. Even down here. How high was the fall and was it before, or after, the beating?" he prodded gently. "How are the ribs?"

"Bit of both and, possibly cracked. Took a couple of kicks on the way back to my weapon," she flinched when he pressed near the cut on her side. "Hear what things?"

"You know this is a graze, right?" He came around and glared at her. "I need to know if you've been shot, stupid. You and Warner threatened a justice department goon. Those guys usually have friends."

Davy chose that moment to knock on the door, letting himself in with a tray of almost food and jello. Ignoring him, she shrugged, trying not to press the gown to her breasts harder, "There was gunplay but I honestly don't remember contact while being shot at."

"What?"

"He doesn't- "Marc started.

She just shook her head and Marc nodded. "It's gonna need a couple of stitches. Eat something," Turning to Davy, he said, "Thank you, now take her clothes and burn them."

"You were shot?"

"At," she corrected, "Hardly the first time. Now, do you mind? We have boundaries."

He set the tray down and went into the bathroom to fetch her dirty clothes.

Marc looked between them and gave her a look, "He gives you shit because he thinks he's better than you, doesn't he?"

Being divorced because his impulse wife left him for her abusive ex, Marc was a little sensitive to the way women were treated. Daphne imagined there was probably some abuse in his past too, but the wife's perfidy was well known. Trying to calm someone she respected was worth the effort but she was exhausted and Davy was going to expect answers about Tim.

All she wanted was a nap.

"Will he take care of you while you're recovering?" Marc continued, taking her silence for an affirmation.

"Of course," Davy said, coming out having stuffed them all in a garbage bag from next to the sink. "She's my sister. Whatever secrets you have, she's my twin and I won't let anything happen to my family," he said fiercely.

The mere energy he expended talking to much made Daphne tired.

"What did you give me?" she muttered, blinking, between bites of stale roll.

Marc felt her forehead, concerned expression on his face. "Antibiotics and painkiller. Painkillers can have sedative effects. When was the last time you slept?"

"What day is it?"

He smirked. "I'm telling your boss you're not gonna be pretty enough to trap anymore if he doesn't let you sleep."

"What is this 'sleep' you speak of?" she played along as he motioned for her to lay on her side for the prescribed stitches.

Davy glowered at their comradery, she noticed. Did he forget she was in the military too? That he'd followed her in? That he had his brothers because she'd set the example? What was his problem?
Daphne felt, rather than saw, her brother leave. And somehow managed to doze as soon as Marc'd pulled the last of three stitches.

Six months ago

Tim and Nelson were escorted into the back of the house, if you can call being led with two guns ahead and four behind an escort. The marshals had been outgunned and were sinking fast. He eyed the six around him, not counting whoever he didn't see or Mako in front of him with Delphine.

Fucking kryptonite.

Mako was smug, with a proprietary hand on the small of her back, owning her like he owned his custom suits. Next to his hulking form she was even more delicate in her red satin dress and flimsy heels. Her eyes huge, taking in the scene, a dark part of him thought it was just her makeup and perfectly done eyebrows rather than concern for another actual human being.

He wanted to blame her. He was gonna survive three tours in Afghanistan and Iraq but die because a beautiful woman got under his skin.

And she was French, no less.

Mako turned Delphine's head toward him and her expression changed from concern to curiosity, "Darling, I'm going to need to take care of a couple of things." He gestured to one of them, "Malcolm will escort you wherever you like and we'll take a rain check for tonight."

"A rain check," she said as flatly as her French lilt would allow. She was getting mad. If there weren't guns pointed at him it would hilarious. Like watching the cheerleader pick a fight with the quarterback when he was looking to shove you in a locker.

Bizarrely convenient.

Given the last conversation he'd had with Delphine, where he'd gone from offering witness protection to offering running away with money he would steal from the evidence locker (a little snooping had proven the evidence lockers were veritable banks). He wasn't expecting a lot, but he'd been soundly refused, mildly ridiculed, and told that the conversation never happened in very accented terms, given her tendency to return to her native tongue in anger. After, he just felt relieved she hadn't figured out he was asking her to run away with him, rather than just running away from Mako.

She backed up, fuming to stand next to Malcolm and asked, "Are you going to kill them? Is very sloppy. People know they're here."

Mako looked at her, "you really want to see what I do?"

Wait, what?

She moved towards him, "if we're to be partners in life, let us be partners in life."

Boy, had he misjudged her. Tim cursed inwardly. There were two windows and the heavy desk could withstand a few rounds. They were still on the first floor too. They could work this out, he tried to tell himself.

Mako's craggy face softened for moment and he bussed her cheek before taking her chin in his hand and kissing her, "if you ever second guess me in my business again, sweeting, they'll never find your body."

And Tim's blood still ran cold at his treatment of her. Mako shoved her back to Malcolm and pulled out an old revolver, "This was my father's," he was speaking to the marshals this time, aiming at Tim. "and he always taught me-"

"Oh, we're gonna talk," Tim said.

"Excuse me?" Mako froze in front of them, lackey's exchanging glances around him.

"The part where the bad guy explains his evil plan before he tries to kill the heroes. Thought it was a myth, but if you're bringing up daddy dearest then we're in for a long night. Mind if we sit?" he gestured to the unoccupied chairs in front of Mako's heavy mahogany desk.

Mako raised an eyebrow. "Do I have an evil plan to share with you, Deputy?"

"If you're gonna kill us, you ought to."

"And what could this evil plan possibly consist of? Hiding fugitives? For what purpose? The kindness of my heart?"

"Don't know. That's why there's that long talk where you tell me your plans."

"Sorry, Deputy. You'll die in suspense."

And then there was blood… and gunfire.

Delphine had pulled Malcolm in front of her and slit his throat with blade hidden under her skirt. Did she always have one of those? She threw the silver blade past him, landing in the neck of the lackey behind him. Pulling Malcolm's weapon, she put two rounds in Mako's head before taking out two of the lackeys approaching her.

Tim and Nelson had dropped to the floor and looted the nearest bodies she'd put down. She'd dropped poor Malcolm as a human shield by the third shot and had made her way over to Mako's desk and picked up his laptop, still firing. She kicked his revolver towards Tim and Nelson and pulled open one of the wood panels on a bookcase, roomful of dead bad guys already in her rearview, "C'mon, already!"

Nelson didn't need telling twice but Tim hesitated before saying, "You lost something."

"Shut up and move, boy scout!" he was past her by the time she said it but she was already returning fire to an incomer, and ducked to pull another gun off a guy on the floor. While she was down, she tugged a bag from underneath the desk to put the laptop in. Slinging it over her head and keeping it shielded by her body.

Tim stayed in the doorway as she returned, Nelson checking the revolver - fully loaded- while a round hit the floor inches from where Delphine was. She dove to a further body, lifting his torso and using it for cover as she took two shots, dropping the new one before either marshal could offer back up. With trained efficiency she palmed another automatic, never letting go of the laptop in the bag.

He yanked her into the tunnel as soon as she was within reach. She passed him one of her looted pistols, "Nowhere to put it in this getup."

He paused to look. She was right, spaghetti strapped satin that ended above her knees left her nothing inconspicuous. There was always wherever she'd hidden that knife though. She rolled her eyes and pushed him back to pull the panel over the doorway. Tim helped her wrestle it into position, and she said without looking at him, "Most of the guys aren't aware of the passage, Mako's paranoia made it easy to convince him they would steal information and cut him out if they knew they had access. Passageways lead to the distillery, the opening in the cabin by the helipad, and a mineshaft about a mile off property into the woods." Her new American accent made it slightly easier to understand as she started forward but Tim caught her.

He didn't know what expression he had on his face when he grabbed her arm but Nelson stepped in before he could say anything, "Thanks for-" he gestured towards the door, identified now by the fading cracks of light, "that. Who are you?"

"Not your problem, "she said shortly, holding Tim's gaze.

Rather than hold on to the devil woman in front of him he stepped back and pulled the gun she'd given him on her.

"That's gratitude for you," she said with a ghost of a smile.

"My partner asked you a question."

"And I'm not answering," she turned and started walking.

When he was pointing at her.

"We need to-" Nelson started, eyes asking Tim what the hell he was doing.

"You need to move," she said softly from ahead of them.

He exchanged looks with Nelson and checked his phone for bars. No reception. And started to follow her.

It wasn't long before the wood paneling of the tunnel gave way to dirt and the moist earthen smell helped center him.

It took him a few more yards before he was prepared to start again, but he gently clasped her shoulder and turned her to him, Nelson trying not to facepalm, "We need-," he said softly.

"You need nothing," she cut off roughly, facing them. "Your office was told to look elsewhere. You borderline harassed Mako over them and-"

"They were here! He was hiding fugitives. We catch fugitives. That's our job." Tim wanted to shake her. He froze, taking a deep breath. She was hell on the control he'd always prided himself on. Softer, he continued, "If we'd known that-"

"Known what? You know very well 'knowing' anything is not an option, Deputy. Now come on. They're not stupid, they'll find us." She started walked ahead.

"You didn't answer our questions," Nelson said, standing back for Tim to follow her.

"And I'm not going to, it's safer for all of us."

"Why are we following you and not calling in our backup and securing the scene?"

"Because you want to live to see backup arrive," she said coldly.

Tim glowered but stayed silent. Still following her.

It wasn't more than five minutes before the passageway forked. The one to the left was barricaded, cartoony wooden slats. While the right was earth continuing to be reinforced at intervals, "So, uh, where did these come from?" Nelson broke the silence.

"Bootleggers, of course," she led them to the right.

"So, what's on the laptop?" Tim asked through clenched teeth.

She remained silent.

"What are we supposed to call you?"

She stayed silent.

"The game you're playing-"

The shot came from ahead of them, she pushed them both back to the wall. The passage curved immediately ahead of them, a fact that their opponents had either forgotten or never knew. At the second shot, Tim leapt over her, pushing her to the floor as he watched for muzzle flare in the dark.

She remained beneath him, guarding the laptop and watching. Allowing him to protect her. He responded to the third and fourth shots. He aimed and fired at each flash in the dark. Either no one had taught them to move between shots, or they weren't certain enough of their section of tunnel. Rolling up at his first return, she waited until they heard a soft grunt and then she pulled them back to the fork.

"Where are we going now?" Tim whispered in her ear.

"We have to hope they're too busy waiting for us in the woods for there to be anyone at the cabin," she said softly. "Only Barker uses the woods entrance, easier for him to avoid you guys while smuggling."

"Why is it barricaded?" Nelson asked as she was shoving it out of the way.

"Mako staged a collapse shortly after he took possession of the house." she pushed it back into place, stomping the displaced earth down, before racing ahead, "It limited the ways people knew to move around, took out a few whose loyalty he questioned and ensured loyalty through his efforts to save those who were lost."

She said it all so very softly as she pushed them both ahead, that Tim wasn't sure he'd caught the whole story. "The men he'd tried to save?" he whispered.

"Their bodies aren't still here. The bodies of the men who re-dug the tunnel probably are though."

His stomach turned and he looked to Nelson, who had a similar sickly expression.

"Neat way to earn loyalty," Nelson muttered.

"Prefer Art's way better," Tim muttered back, and Nelson nodded.

She gestured them forward, "Can we get out of here, please?"

They'd reached the door and she held her hand flat as she opened it. She slipped her head out and apparently, approved of what she saw because she left and motioned for them to follow her. They were in a storage warehouse for the brewery. They came out of the back of a set of lockers along the wall behind the barrels. She stayed low, skulking behind them even though they didn't see or hear anyone. When she paused at a barrel, Tim moved ahead to the next one staying low and keeping watch, the pair of them moving in sync, providing cover as Nelson brought up the rear.

Making him think her training wasn't as far off from his as she would probably try to pretend if they ever got back to civilization.

Nelson was on his phone bringing up the rear, whispering to Art as she rolled her eyes. She frog-jumped him and reached the doorway, hand up while she checked the passageway. Tim hung back to put Nelson in the middle as they started to leave the storage room. They managed to make it to the front office area before the door was kicked open before them and they had to dive behind a desk to avoid the asshole with the shotgun.

He fired into the desk, splintering the panel connecting the filing cabinets that they were hiding behind. She was shielding the laptop and was following his position with the gun in her free hand.

Tim smirked and said, "Put it down or I'll put you down." He had a good bead as he rose and stepped away from them.

Asshole kept his shotgun pointed at him but didn't fire. Just grinned and stepped back out.

It took him a second to see why.

Behind him was a guy with a flamethrower. In a distillery.

Tim stepped back as well, "We need to leave." And then louder, "US Marshals. Step back and put the flamethrower down."
"Flame-," she said standing up. "Seriously, jerkoff? In a distillery?"

His gaze flitted to her from Tim, "Who are you?" His eyes went to the bag and back to her face. Shotgun left the building and Flamethrower pointed the flame into the doorway, not expecting an answer.

"Um, is there a back way?" Nelson said.

"Not one that they wouldn't be waiting at," she answered, eyes moving around the room, undefeated.

"Shooting them gonna help?" Tim asked secure in his bailiwick.

She stepped around the desk in her little dress, barefoot. He had no idea where she'd lost her shoes, nut she didn't seem to miss them. She aimed at Flamethrower, "You get Shotgun?"

He shifted his shot as the paint on the top of the doorjamb started to blister, "Yeah."

"Sparky, you're gonna step back or die," she said to Flamethrower.

He smirked, she double-tapped him.

His falling made Tim's shot at Shotgun both easier and unnecessary as Shotgun dropped his gun and put his hands up. The ducked out of the flaming doorway and Nelson was midway through reading Shotgun his rights when an explosion rocked the distillery.

"Guess they started the fire at the back door too," she muttered, picking the lock on a truck parked in front.

"You have no space for a gun but can keep a knife and a pick set in that dress?" Tim asked, gun still on the handcuffed Shotgun, who was apparently named Darrel Johns.

She smirked, still moving the picks, and said, "You expect me to tell you all my secrets, Deputy?"

"Maybe just answer a question here and there. What's your name? Where did you stash the knife from earlier? Where were the picks? Where'd your shoes go? Little things," he said conversationally.

She'd gotten the door lock midway through his questions and was prying open the steering column with manicured fingers. "Heels weren't practical in the tunnel, Deputy."

"But that little dress has Mcgyver written all over it."

"If you two could flirt later," Nelson said, phone to his ear, "Backup is gonna be at least thirty."

"Get him in the truck," she said, popping the locks and sliding in the driver's seat for better access.

"Don't the keys have a sensor so you can't hotwire it?" Nelson said, finally looking over at what they were doing.

She nodded with a slightly manic grin, "Yup."

"So, why are we wasting our time?" He looked to Tim.

Tim had complete faith she could get the car started, he realized. He knew all of nothing about her, she refused to answer his questions but he trusted her anyway. Fucking dumb.

"Ha!" she pulled something out triumphantly, tossed it at them and grinned, "Two seconds now."

Nelson had caught it. Tiny little circuit board. Tim laughed, "That the sensor?"

The truck started in response, "Get in!"

They met Art and Rachel on the way back with reinforcements. And a black SUV with federal plates that Not-Delphine got into when they were trying to talk to her. A suit stood next to the car to block them from following her in.

So Tim stood in front of the SUV.

The honked and the driver motioned for him to move in frustration.

They were trapped in too close by the other LEO vehicles and couldn't back out, so Tim just crossed his arms and waited. It didn't take long.

She came out the other side, dress now over a pair of jeans and under a tank top. She was still barefoot and had pulled her hair into a messy ponytail.

Like a whole different person.

"Did you want to discuss something?"

"We need a statement from you."

"Check your email. If that's all?" she crossed her arms.

"We have questions."

"And I'm pretty sure that email you'll get will have a 'respond to sender' option."

He smirked, pretty sure with his audience at this point he was just embarrassing himself. "You killed a lot of people."

"I'm sorry, was that your job?" she smirked back.

"Tim," Art said softly, his eyes going back and forth. "Maybe- "

"She'll make an appointment to be at your office," another Suit from inside the car stuck his head out to say. She gaped at him with her eyebrows up. He looked at her, "She'll be there in a day or so."

She clenched her jaw, turning back to Tim, "Is that enough?"

He stepped out of the way and gestured for them to pass. She got back in the car looking like she was going to kill both of them.

Art raised his eyebrows, as they pulled out, "So that's the French girl that got you all up in arms? She's cute. We'll talk about that stunt later, get in the car."

Tim stood with Art and Patrick waiting for his doom. He really wanted to just sit and lean back for Vasquez's pronouncement that his career was over. Vasquez being smug from, if not taking Raylan down, then at least having a casualty of his war over the current Florida marshal under his belt. Tim half expected that Vasquez was gunning for Art too, as practical as gunning for a man retiring in weeks while recovering from a gunshot wound is.

The door opened with a clank and a suit he didn't recognize walked in, preceding her. So, this was her appointment.

She was dressed casually and he couldn't stop his eyes from widening any more than he could keep his teeth from grinding. It was all her fault he was in this situation.

If she hadn't needed saving.

If she hadn't been sleeping with an arms dealer employing and hiding federal fugitives.

If she hadn't blown her cover to save his and Nelson's lives. He wouldn't be potentially facing being drummed out of the marshals' service.

Her dark hair was lightened to display caramel streaks, with the popular waved ends and was cut to her shoulders now. Her olive sweater, jeans and boots were practically camouflage compared to the scarlet satin slip dress she'd been wearing the last time he saw her. He cursed that she could still get his blood flowing out of her sexy, kept woman attire.

Art and Patrick were watching him as she swaggered past her colleague to sit at the head of the table and put her feet up.

She put her feet up on the table.

Her colleague smirked and put his hand out to Art. "Jim Warner, Chief Mullen."

Art took the hand, friendly as it was given and gave her a questioning glance, "Who you with, Mr. Warner?"

He smiled and took Patrick's hand, "DOD, and its Captain, like our friend here, but we're not really here, you see?" Warner had a twinkle in his eye as he charmed the two veteran marshals, "Chief Massett."

Tim however was seeing black, she was military. How had he missed that? CIA couldn't do anything domestically and the FBI loved to give his office shit so they would have warned them off, right? And she was probably here to save him from disgrace. Did they want him back? He was already broken. He didn't want to keep killing. He sat, not glaring at her.

If he looked at her, he'd spit.

Seeing his future in the sand and rocks of the middle east, killing when he wasn't driven slowly crazy from still nothingness. And she would have lead him to it.

She smiled. An actual smile, artless and open. "As much as I appreciate you protecting Davy's miscreant sister, I'd think you'd appreciate knowing I was there for work and not actually conning an international arms dealer with suspected terror links?"

He blinked and she directed her own charming gaze to Art and Patrick and lied, "Deputy Gutterson's misguided sense of honor notwithstanding he didn't actually misconduct himself."

Tim almost snorted, wracking his brain for a Davy he'd known or served with (there were a lot of David's).

"If you knew my family history," she gestured towards Warner, he produced a thick file folder for Art, on his declining, Warner passed it to Patrick.

"And what is your family name?" Art said, in his I'll-listen-to-your-pitch-but-I-ain't-buying voice.

Davy Roman had been a gypsy, he'd said. His people stole nails at the crucifixion, he'd also never spoken about how he wound up in the army. He'd mentioned being raised by uncles and his grandfather, all hard, violent, thieving men, but a sister had never been mentioned. An evil twin had, though.

She smiled sweetly, like a whole other person, "Daphne Roman. Tim and I met briefly when he and my brother Davy were on leave together in Italy years back. Our family is colorful to put it kindly-"

"Felonious, to put it accurately," Warner said, sitting next to her.

"So, Tim naturally assumed I was there running a con rather than gathering intelligence."

"Not that Captain Roman has ever done that in her naval career," Warner interjected.

Tim blinked and stared straight ahead. He was army. She was navy. What was her angle? Were favors owed? Did they need favors? He could feel Art trying to get his attention, probably to ask the same question Tim was asking, "What's your angle, gypsy?"

Daphne grinned, wide and guileless, half scaring him. The other half was still all libido where she was concerned.

Patrick sat with a thud next to where Art still stood, peeking over his shoulder, Art raised an eyebrow at the file and sat between Tim and Patrick, looking at her speculatively. "That's a colorful file there, Captain. How did you get your captaincy?"

"Dirty pictures of the joint chiefs."

Art and Patrick both measured her from beside him, Tim was going to trust their assessment because if he looked at her he was probably going to leap over the table at her.

To throttle her or kiss her, he didn't know.

Vasquez interrupted them. The US attorney sauntered in with his paralegal and another suit, presumably an attorney.

Or maybe he wasn't?

Vasquez stopped to stare at the two Captains, Daphne with her disrespectful feet up and Warner sitting respectfully like he battled in boardrooms every day.

The other suit, looking positively puce, looked at Warner like he was the devil. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Captain Warner, I wasn't aware this matter concerned your office?" the words weren't quite strangled.

Warner smiled congenially as Art leaned back, relaxing as pieces came together. He gestured to Daphne and the suit glowered, "Captain Roman and myself are here to explain just what the Marshals found themselves involved in," directed to Art, "or as much as we can, national security and all," and back to the other suit, "Aren't you supposed to be in DC?"

"Isn't the pirate supposed to be in Arlington?" He shot back.

"Jeez, Mark, Daph's hasn't stolen a boat in-" Warner looked to her.

She had the grace to look ashamed, in a small voice, "weeks."

"Really? You have a problem."

"I need a program," she agreed, sadly.

"Do you people have a sense of shame?" Mark the suit demanded over, Vazquez's attempts to calm him.

"No, you gonna buy me one?" she said, warmly sad to coldly smug 0.2 seconds.

"What? WHY-"

"You got what'sherface one."

Mark the suit just stood there gaping while Vasquez pushed him out.

"Who are you and-" Vasquez started upon closing the door.

"I'm the little French whore you're trying to run my brother's army buddy out of the Marshals service with," she paused for him to catch up. "Except I'm a naval officer that was on an assignment that your office and the delightful Mr. Jessup's office were supposed to keep them," she motioned to the marshals, "away from. Consequently, I was given the choice between saving the guy who saved my twin or preserving a 3-year cover. And I'm a bad enough person that I'm a tad resentful over that lost time, counselor. And you're dumb enough to lay down fleas because your old law school friend out there isn't advanced enough on the evolutionary ladder to be anything else. So, here's how it's gonna go: you're gonna flip through the folder that chief Massett is so enjoying, you're gonna see I come from bad bad people but Deputy Gutterson and I met before when he was in the army with my brother, who I'm terribly fond of. You're gonna figure with his torn loyalties between Davy and his office, he misguidedly tried to save me. Repeatedly, because he's a sap.

"You're going to see pictures from where we've met before and assume, as he did, that I was just girl in over my head, who was running a con on Mako and was trying to take his money and run. And you're going to chalk it up as a learning experience for Deputy Gutterson, because he should have shared that he knew the whole time that I was not a French tart, but an American criminal, to the best of his knowledge."

Vasquez worked his jaw, "And did Deputy Gutterson know you the whole time, Captain Roman?"

Warner interjected gently, "As my esteemed colleague said there are photos in the file proving that acquaintance."

Vasquez's nostrils flared at the "esteemed," but Patrick flipped through and pulled a photo of himself and Davy, with PFC Harrison, a photo he remembered taking, with herself, younger, with a sunburnt nose and no makeup squeezed in next to Davy. He knew it was photoshopped, but such thorough work made calling him a sap was forgivable. She was fucking adorable in it.

He looked at her, really looked. She'd put her feet down at some point and sat straight to tell Vasquez what he was gonna do. She may be irreverent at times, but he suspected that was a part she played as much as her accent when they'd met. This fierce hellion next to him, was real. As was the grin in the photo. Had they pulled it from a picture with her brother? She was Davy's sister, seeing the faces next to each other made it quite blatant. He wanted to kick himself for missing it, but he could barely reconcile the snobby French damsel he'd let get under his skin with the woman next to him either.

He had pulled Davy Roman out of an overturned jeep before it had blown, Davy and he had then carried Harrison to safety, it had been in his first tour, before Ranger school and sniper school and the mindless math of sniper nests. Later, Davy had gone down the path of selling car parts and sending things home to resell. But he'd testified with him and Tim had put a bug in his ear about how Ranger school had helped give him a purpose...at the time.

He was fairly sure if she could ever not poke people with a stick, she'd be an admiral leading a fleet on North Korea, but she was also just too pretty for her own good. And she'd kissed him in a gunfight.

"We took that photo in June," he smiled at a completely different memory. "She was only in town for a day. We only had 3. Davy never said what she did, he was always cagey about the family. There were clues, of course. He refused to introduce her to us, she'd had to do it herself," he figured Davy should be protective of his sister, she was certainly protective of people on his behalf.

She nodded sagely, "I'm not allowed to know Davy friends. Ask him."

Vasquez narrowed his eyes, "And if I'd like to?"

Warner slid a cell phone across the table, "You have to go through the base's switchboard."

Apparently seeing no option if they were sticking together, Vasquez was grinding his teeth when Mark Jessup, the suit, came back in holding his phone.

"As adorable as your attempts to get the band back together are, this stunt means it's not gonna happen." He looked at Warner, "You misused DOD property to photoshop evidence to protect your little honey trap's boyfriend. You're done, Warner. Your entire little group of loose cannons and spies are done."

"I'm average height," she interjected softly and Art snickered.

Warner looked unperturbed, "Prove it. Photos are on the record now and the good deputy has confirmed their authenticity. Captain Roman's service records have her as a diving instructor on loan to the Roman antiquities preservation group, the ah-" he snapped his fingers to recall.

"I was attached to the Carabinieri per la Tutela Patrimonio Culturale, otherwise known as the Art Squad, as a diver for two years following a cartel using smuggled antiquities to launder terrorist money," she said calmly. "Hundreds of documents verify my presence."

"It's why they photoshopped these photos," Tim said before he could help himself.

He realized what he'd said, but she just shook her head next to him, "Bad boy scout, leave the one-liners to the professionals."

"Did you just say they were-"

"I made a joke-"

"A bad one, "Art offered.

"Look, it was a very brief acquaintance, in the presence of Davy and Jon Harrison, over one day. None of us had any idea what Daphne," he wanted to savor using her real name, "was there to do. We didn't even know Davy had a sister before then. It was more than a decade ago, I find it absurd it should even matter now. I was trying to protect my friend's family. And keep her out of jail, which given the family history, was not outside the realm of possibility, with the information I had at the time." Tim took a deep breath, trying to save himself if she'd gone through all this work to save him. "I had no idea she was on an assignment until Mako had a gun to Nelson's and my heads and she shot him to save us," he turned to her, "since I saved Davy and you saved me, we were actually square beforehand..."

"Because I have no use for a US Marshal who owes me a favor?" she quirked an eyebrow at him and he wanted to kiss her.

Daphne had to stop flirting with him. She knew it, she was sure he knew it, and Warner was going to relentless with his teasing later about it. It was plain stupid to do so in their presence regardless. It was the coincidence of Mark Jessup's office being in town with the US attorney that allowed their blatant involvement. She had options to save Gutterson behind the scenes from her office in Arlington, but he couldn't see they were on the same side from there. She wanted him to know she wasn't just a whore and honey trap with a good gun hand.

He continued, following her lead, making it up as he went, saying, "Trying to make an example out of those of us on the front line in that bloodbath-"

"A bloodbath she made to save you," Vasquez interrupted. "she-" he pointed at her, "she, who had distracted you consistently through your pursuit of D'Angelo and Wescott. You didn't look for them anywhere else because SHE was there."

"And so were they," she quipped, continuing more seriously, "Mako liked to hire cons because he felt they already hated the system he wanted to overturn, they were no fair-weather teens, who were going to get overseas and balk because there was no air conditioning," she explained. "There was nowhere else for Deputies Gutterson and Nelson to look without wasting resources. It ended badly because Mako wouldn't let it end any other way."

"How many people did you kill, Captain Roman?" Vasquez said, "because it was a bloodbath-"

"It was a battle, I killed 17 people, including the man I've shared a bed with for the worse part of two years. I knew their names, most of their children's names and had conversed with them daily for those two years. I killed them to save your deputies from being murdered for doing their jobs, protecting the public."

Warner continued for her as he could tell she was fuming, "She is here, available for vilification, because your office is trying to punish them for doing their jobs. And slandering both herself and deputy Gutterson in the process, by intimating there's more to their relationship."

She wished there was more to their relationship.

Jessop was ready to spit behind Counselor Vasquez, and she knew Warner was itching to knock him down. She made eye contact with Jessop for the briefest second.

Which was enough.

"Regardless of what she and the deputy may or may not have done, if Captain Roman declined to inform her superiors her cover could be blown, she faces disciplinary actions."

Bait taken.

The marshals faces either froze or blanched next to her, after seeing her attempt to save their boy, she guessed they didn't want it to blow up in her face.

Sweet of them.

Tim looked so stunned she had to stop herself from taking his hand. He clenched his fists like he had to stop himself too. She did set her hand on his arm to stop him from speaking though. Lord knew, his hero complex would be the death of him. She hoped her own smug expression was enough.

Warner pulled slip of paper out and passed it to Vasquez. Saying, "It was in poor taste but..." and shrugging.

Jessop looked like he was gonna explode, reading it over Vasquez's shoulder.

She grinned.

Tim raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged.

Vasquez was eating crow, "It was the opinion of Captain Roman's superiors that Deputy Gutterson remain in play, as they were confident she could-quote-use him as necessary."

Jessop reached over and snatched the paper from him, "This is forged! It's not from-"

"It's from Admiral Grantham's office, Mark. Don't you- oh," Warner looked at Daphne with faux concern.

"Did Riggs not tell you? He could have at least given you a heads up… like mentioning Miramar or something?" she said innocently.

Warner shrugged, "Or August 13th?"

Jessop's eyes narrowed, "Are you trying to blackmail me, Warner?"

"I would never," his eyes twinkled, "We have her for that."

She grinned.

Vasquez started, "Any discussion of blackmailing a justice department official-"

"Shut up, Vasquez," Warner said, steel in his voice now. "You are a pawn and this is no longer your pay grade, you will walk out of this room and be done with the entire situation. I'm afraid that applies to you as well, Marshals."

Chief Art Mullen rose immediately with a calculating look of his own and offered his hand, "Nice to meet you, Jim."

Tim and the other rose as well, Tim far slower, catching her hand with his own under the table briefly. Hands were shaken, nods were offered in her direction and, "Captain Roman," uttered in her direction, except Tim.

Tim called her Daphne.

She didn't want to smile at all at that.

The Marshals and US attorney left, the trailing, wide-eyed paralegal closing the door behind them.

"So, this is how it is," Warner started, "You've lost the Admiral's office. We still have the Generals' and there's a new administration. You can get out of the way or certain cards will be played."

"So, you are blackmailing me?" He sneered.

"No, I'm blackmailing you, there are sworn statements from various parties, including your estranged wife, implicating you. You're my puppet," she said sounding bored.

"You're a corrosive bitch."

"Aren't you glad we're on the same side?" she smiled mirthlessly.

He turned and pulled the door open. And Tim punched him.

Vasquez hadn't wanted to walk away, even after sending his paralegal to his office, neither had Art. Recalling they were all on the same side, regardless of methods, they stayed at the doorway and decided to learn why they were all pawns.

Four men milling about the hallways of the courthouse is nothing suspicious. Four silent men, had anyone been there to observe, would have drawn attention.

Tim hadn't meant to hit him either. But he'd opened the door too quick after calling her that.

They'd made her the villain. She was just doing her job, her job was to be the vile seductress, the blackmailer, killer, whore, and thief... and God help him, he was in love with her.

He blinked as much at the revelation as at the fact that he'd lost control, again.

"Language, Mark, it bothers some people," Warner smirked, ready to go. Daphne was standing behind him, dark eyes wide and soft.

"I suppose I'm not allowed to press assault charges either," he said picking himself up.

"No," she said sweetly, "you should just try not to trip in the future."

Warner smirked, "What she said. Gentlemen." He gestured for Mark to precede him.

She followed them both, catching and squeezing Tim's hand on the way out. But he wouldn't let go so they held as she walked away, him not following and her not stopping. And then she was gone.

He needed a drink.

Fortunately, there was still a bottle in what was still Art's office. Massett was silent on the way back, Tim was sure it was to learn Art's ways to win the loyalty of Art's people. Especially after what happened to Rachel.

He was glad Rachel wasn't there for this.

She didn't train him to behave that way. She didn't train him to lose his head or risk compromising himself by being alone with the girlfriend of the subject repeatedly either.

"So how much of that was bullshit?" Art asked as soon as they reached the office and gestured for Patrick to close the door behind them.

"No idea what you're talking about, sir," Tim offered sheepishly, preferring other people in the hot seat.

"She likes you," Patrick smirked.

Art motioned to someone in the bullpen. "I might like her. She's sharp," Art started pouring.

The door opened and closed, Nelson sat beside Tim. Co-hot seat. "Yes, Chief?"

"Did the good Miss Delphine ever refer to her history with Deputy Gutterson?"

"History?"

He could tell Nelson was trying not to look at him for a tip.

"That they met - how many years ago?" Art looked at Tim now.

"Probably close to 15 now. It was before Ranger school."

"So, you met her once 15 years ago? For one day? Makes sense you wouldn't remember her immediately, right, Patrick?" Art was enjoying himself.

Patrick smiled mirthlessly, "A face like that? I'd remember her. Course I've never been to Italy. Maybe faces like hers are a dime a dozen in Italy."

"Fair point. And she did a damn fine job with that accent."

"You knew Delphine?" Nelson asked softly, eyes wide.

"So, there was no history?" Patrick pounced.

"It was very loud, there was no chance of real conversation and, yes, Deputy Gutterson and the woman I knew as Delphine Saulnier did behave like there was more between them than… what I was aware of," Nelson answered carefully. "That they've met before is well-founded theory for that behavior."

"Well said," Art grinned. "She came with a friend to help rescue poor Deputy Gutterson from Vasquez today. Speak of the devil." He motioned for Vasquez to come in, most of the marshals had filed out as it was the end of the day, but Vasquez still closed the door as he perched next to Patrick on the couch.

"She is horrifying, your girlfriend."

Tim engaged in ceiling inspection. To everyone's amusement.

"Saying we believe that you met in Italy 15 years ago, you never knew she was in the Navy?" Vasquez asked good naturedly. Apparently, a truce was in place.

"No, Davy never talked about his family. Ever," Tim took the glass Art offered. Pulling his chair back to see the couch and desk, "Y'all know more about that family than I do."

"Family?" Nelson mirrored his chair to Tim's.

"Delphine's not her name, she's military intelligence but she was nervous here and her brother-" Vasquez started.

"Twin," Art cut in.

"Her twin brother is Gutterson's army buddy. They met before and he was trying to save her because-"

"Because I'm a sap," Tim finished, looking at his whiskey.

"This is true," Nelson agreed. "But I think telling people that might be retaliation for pointing a gun at her after she saved us."

"Wait-what?" Patrick said. Art and Vasquez settled for raising their eyebrows.

"I wanted her to stand still long enough to answer questions," Tim shrugged, still not drinking.

"Didn't seem to hold it against you," Patrick offered.

"Not with that rescue. Pictures, letters from the Admiral's office. She could've done that from her own office though," Vasquez said. "Part I'm curious about is that she accused my office of not keeping you away from Mako."

"Your office and your friend Jessop's, "Art agreed.

"Yeah, Mark and I were in law school together too. Just like she said. Which makes me question the accuracy of other statements."

"Of hers?" Tim questioned.

"Or of your buddy's?" Art finished.

Vasquez pursed his lips, "I had no idea that Mako was suspected of terrorist ties. My office had no idea. It either hadn't gotten that far or its moving in a different circle. Which would explain military intelligence and Jessop's office should have notified us, were that the case. You never should have been there for more than a cursory interview."

"Apology accepted," Art said with a toast of his own glass.

Tim smirked, Vasquez hadn't apologized yet.

"I'm sorry someone I considered a friend is trying to use us for their own politics."

Shit, he did apologize.

"Did that hurt?" Tim asked.

"Use up all your sniper control keeping your hands off the honey trap?" Vasquez said, eyes hardened.

"I'll answer yours, you answer mine," he said it good-naturedly. Admitting to being a pawn hurt a man.

Vasquez nodded, "Yes. I trusted him."

"Yeah, she protected me from myself more than probably I even know."

"She likes you. God help you," Vasquez finished his drink. "I am sorry for it, but I don't think it concerns any of us anymore. Except possibly you," he nodded to Tim, "Are you gonna pursue any of it?"

"Patrick?" Art asked, "Gonna be your office?"

He took a deep breath, "Don't think so. Boys are alright and Tim's protected. Keep the records for the future. Try to keep a closer eye on 'em, but what will pushing it get us?"

"What I was thinking," Vasquez nodded. "I'll get you what you need from my office." He rose and passed his glass to Art, "pleasure working with you, sir."

Art rose and shook his hand, "At times, certainly. An honor, counselor."

"Gentlemen," Vasquez nodded his departure.

The party broke up, with Nelson and Patrick going home to their wives. Tim sat for a minute after Patrick left and said, "I know you want to be getting back to Leslie."

"You've been staring at that Pappy all night, boy. Did she break you or did you just prefer the idea that you saved the bad girl so much she saved you and know you're disappointed she was a good girl all along?"

Tim smirked. "I ever tell you she snuck up on me?"

Art quirked a brow. Not many had managed that feat.

"Was questioning Mako about DeAngelis and she was about two feet behind me and cleared her throat and I jumped. Mako thought it was hilarious."

"You forgive her?"

"Sometimes. That make sense?"

"Very much." Art smiled, in dad mode. "Do you have feelings for her?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Art, I nearly threw away my career and self-respect for that woman thinking she was Mako's plaything. Knowing what she is now, what they made her. How she actually is."

"Yes, now that you've actually met the woman. Not your idea of her. Do you still have feelings?"

A beat passed.

Art opened his mouth to say something but Tim beat him to the punch, "I'd throw everything away for her. Over and over again, Art. She's been in my head since I saw her but now I think she's in my fucking soul. And now that I know her name I'm probably never gonna see her again."

Art poured and took another shot before he responded. "I was just gonna say you don't have to tell me anything, just know the answer yourself."

Tim smirked, "Tmi?"

"This office has been in more shit and I'm more grateful than you know that your kryptonite was that young lady. I was expecting worse from you to be honest," he eyed Tim's whiskey.

Tim passed it over, "Mass shooting, perhaps?"

"To be honest, maybe. Or your drinking getting the better of you," he tipped his glass to Tim, before downing it. "Come drive your chief home. Leslie'll feed you. You can tell her all about your girl and try to explain why you're not gonna look for her to Les. She'll set you straight."

"Art, she's intelligence."

"And she's been known to sleep with men for work. That's been known to bother a man a bit."

"I've been known to kill them."

"Defending her is a good sign."

"Get in the elevator, Art."

Daphne Roman was trying to drown herself in the bathtub. It was a dirty place to die but there were worse places. Far worse.

It would be better if she could get that damned marshal out of her mind, but she couldn't. He was firmly fixed from his misguided attempts to save her.

When was the last time a man tried to save her? When was the last time anyone had?

She was deeply afraid the poor fool was in love with his idea of her. That she could be saved.

He could kill himself trying.

She had picked the devil she'd serve long ago and hadn't looked back. Yes, this devil lied and betrayed as much as the one she'd rejected but this one also lost track of what she up to from time to time and had dental. It was scarcely a choice.

She lamented that this was how they'd met. That he'd never want to see her again, even after her attempts to save him. Because her attempts to save him? And that she really did want to see him again.

Jim wanted to get her out of town before she could do anything dumb, but staying in town so she could sneak out to his apartment and seduce him as herself rather than the woman she'd been pretending to be was an attractive idea and the fact that it gave them (well, him) the opportunity to keep an eye on Jessup was too convincing. They'd seized the day by tapping his laptop and she put one of her experimental dots on his phone. It would be only months before his hipster ass would upgrade to a newer iPhone but the important months were now.

Jim had also been uncharacteristically quiet on the subject of her sneaking into the deputy's home intent on seduction. She'd been expecting the relentless, familial teasing they normally provided one another. Was she so obviously wearing her heart on her sleeve that he'd been afraid to make fun of her about Tim's grabbing of her hand? The guy had stood in front of a car to try to see her again after all.

Apparently, not a public fact either.

She poked her nose above the waterline, tilting her head to accomplish it. Monitoring her breathing, four counts in, eight out. She pondered if she was in love with him.

He didn't make her heart race, as a rule. He could, certainly, with a look in his eyes, though.

He mostly made her calm. Alone in a room with him, she was relaxed. Which was enough of a death sentence in this line. But she wasn't always in this line, she argued with herself. She had an office in Arlington, a condo. A life in Virginia he might actually fit into.

But that was selfish, he had a life here. That she had jeopardized. He should hate her. Instead, he'd blindly trusted her to not tell that he'd asked her to run away with him.

Sure, men had offered to leave their wives for her but that was usually minutes before she used the affair to extort something from them. It wasn't often her sexual partner wasn't vetted for what he could gain her or her masters.

Not that the deputy was ever going to be a sexual partner if she didn't make a decision and leave the damn tub.

She blew bubbles and got up. Damn boy scout was gonna be the death of her.

She was at his door a half hour later. Hair still wet, no make-up, and poorly dressed. Not that she intended to keep the clothes on for long anyway. She stood there debating with herself too long before knocking.

And knocking.

And waiting.

He wasn't home.

The bastard wasn't home while she was making her grand gesture.

"Hilarious," she muttered, turning to leave and instead leaping ten feet in the air.

"Hi."

"Christ, wear a bell, would you?" she said, hand over beating heart and insanely happy to see him. Alone, and relatively sober, no less.

"Why are you here, Roman?" stepped past her to unlock his door, leaving it open for her, and helping himself to a beer. He offered her one.

"We-ell, I'm a honey trap sometimes, so I thought I'd seduce you," she said matter-of-factly, not at all like she was half expecting him to ask her to leave. She took the beer when he didn't blink.

"What could I have done to warrant such treatment? I don't have a basement for bodies. Am I moving drugs? Guns?" he stepped away from her, keeping his kitchen island between them, circling her.

She just looked at him. Watching, not running.

He reached in a pocket and pulled out the photo she'd had doctored, setting it on the island between them. "You realize, you being Davy's sister has changed things."

Daphne cocked her head. "I've been his sister for a long time, so, it changes things for you, you're saying?"

"I can't face Davy knowing I- that you and I- "he stuttered.

"Were together? Had sex? Fucked like rabbits? Made love?" she offered.

"Is that what you want?" he asked quickly.

Daphne swallowed. "You can't look for me, you- "

"I know," he said quickly, like he'd thought about it. Like maybe he wanted to.

Her heart squeezed at his rushed tone. "So, are we gonna talk all night or will you make love to me?"

He took a deep breath. And let it out.

And again.

She looked away, "I'm sorry," stepping back and setting down her beer, it was her turn to stammer, "It was wrong of me to come here. I'm sorry, I'll- "

He came around and caught her arm. Pulling her to him, "Are you gonna wake me up before you leave?"

He breath left her, she gulped air -his air- to respond before he could second guess what he'd said, "If we go to sleep, I will."

His kiss was hard and urgent and she responded in kind, moaning as he pressed her to the counter, away from the door. Pulling his shirt over his head while trying not to dislodge their lips got it caught on her chin and when she pulled back, he lifted her onto the counter, nestling himself between her legs and pushing his hard length into her.

Moaning, she kicked off her shoes and worked at his button fly. He pulled her shirt off and pushed her back so he could look at her breasts, straining against her bra. "Tim," she whispered. His eyes had darkened and he was just watching her try to move against him, rough hands on her hips, grinding her already wet core against too many layers of clothing.

He watched her like a predator before he reached under her, one hand still holding her torso toward the counter to look at her nakedness, standing over her. As he popped the hook and eye of her bra and released her pebbled nipples, he didn't blink. She moaned his name again and he put both of his hands on the waistband of her leggings and she lifted her rear off the counter as he yanked them down and off.

Naked before him, she returned to trying to pull his pants off and he stopped her. Holding her wrists in one hand, he kept his eyes on hers and took one taut nipple in his mouth, sucking it. She gasped at the sensation and he smiled his predator smile, watching his effect on her. He gently laved his tongue over the other breast, until it was wet with spit and chilled by his breath. Moving his mouth over her flat belly, he alternated between dragging the tip of his tongue over the goosebumps that developed under his close observation, and gentle, suckling kisses that made her squirm. As he dragged his mouth to her hip bone and trailed his tongue on the crease between torso and thigh, her leg tried to kick up but his body held it still for the tickling torture. One side and then the other, working his way to her inner thigh.

"If you," she was breathing hard, far harder than him, "aren't in," she gasped again as his eyebrow quirked in cold-blooded amusement, "side me," gasp, "in three- "

And then he was. And her vagina spasmed around him.

Well, his fingers were. And then his mouth was on her clit, licking, pressing, spelling words she didn't know, whatever it was, it was amazing. He drank in her moisture as she moved against him, fucking his face and moaning his name when she had breath to do so.

Her orgasm came quickly, body spasming as she exploded under his ministrations.

He picked his face up, triumphant and wet, wiping it with a paper towel as she tried to breathe through her aftershocks.

"Condoms are in the bedroom," he said, putting her boneless arms around his neck and scooping her up like a damsel in distress.

She'd never been a damsel before.

The bedroom wasn't more than fifteen steps away so she didn't have time to breathlessly argue that she could walk. She probably couldn't anyway. Setting her on the bed, laid on top of her and she wrapped her legs to hold him against her as he kissed her.

Daphne didn't know how long they spent just kissing. Making out like high schoolers, he touched her face as so tried to press herself up into him as soon as she had the strength. He merely smiled against her lips and shifted to his hard on was pressed against her thigh rather than her aching, empty pussy. She'd shift her body over to him and as soon as he felt her hot moisture though his undone khakis, he'd move again. Not enough to dislodge her wrapped legs, just enough that she couldn't hump his throbbing cock.

It was confusing her when she could think. It had to hurt him. It had to ache more than the emptiness inside her right now. She felt like going mad if he didn't fill her, but he was trying to prolong the torment.

"Please, honey," she pulled back, begging. "I need it."

He looked in her eyes. Predator gone, he was almost vulnerable. The ache infected her heart as she said again, "Please. I need you inside me."

"Did you call me 'honey'?

"Yes," she cocked her head, blinking desperation away, "I called you 'honey,' is that a problem?"

He shook his head, weird expression on his face, ghosting his fingers over her temple to her lips, down the sides of her throat and back. Watchful eye contact maintained throughout his exploration. She had the impression that he was somewhere else, while still being so intent on her that he'd notice how many ounces of air she breathed. Finally satisfied, he rolled up to take off his pants and release his hard length.

He was stiff and purple and her mouth watered to have him inside her. Pre-cum beaded on his tip and she rolled to lick it off as he bent to pull a condom from the nightstand drawer.

He moaned and rocked his knees against the bed as he dragged his half-lidded eyes up to meet hers, her mouth still holding him, tongue swirling over his bulbous head. She slid back, his manhood exiting her mouth with an audible smack, and patted the bed next to her.

He lay next to her, foil packet offered between two fingers. Setting the condom back on the nightstand she straddled low on his legs, leaning forward to take him in her mouth again. Deep throating him until she almost gagged over and over before suckling and open-mouth kissing the tip, while dragging the fingertips of one hand over his balls and working his base with the other.

"If you keep that up," he started before she took him in her throat and tried to swallow the tip and he lost his breath, "I'm gonna be useless for a few hours."

She swirled the tip of her tongue over him, before picking her head up and saying smugly, "I'm sure I could find something for you to do."

He looked at her intently. "Do you know how many times I dreamed of watching you do that? Watching you come under me?"

Her movements froze. Not much of one for genuine intimacy, she wanted to shy away. But he was important. No matter when or why or how it happened. She knew in her soul that she'd look back on this night with strong feelings the rest of her life. Particularly since she'd probably never see him again.

"Do you know how many times I closed my eyes and imagined it was you inside me?"

It wasn't a lie either. It had been a passing way to survive to imagine other men when she was… coupling with a target. But where Tim had started out as an attractive alternative, he'd morphed into an infatuation even before he'd asked her to leave Mako and run away with him.

She'd imagined running with him too. Imagined how very unhappy her employers would be that their spy had turned someone on their own side. Imagined raising his children on the road like she had been raised.

She held his eyes so he could see that he meant something to her. Even as a one-night stand, he'd stay with her.

She thought he saw it as he sat up to pull her down to him. Kissing her deeply, he rolled her onto her back and reached for the condom again. She took it from him wordlessly and slipped it onto him as he rested on his forearms, stroking his steel length for air bubbles. He had both arms on either side of her head as he asked with his eyes if she was ready for him. Shifting so that her vagina wet the rubber tip, she nodded up at him and gasped as he began to work his way into her.

Sinking balls-deep, he froze, her gasps and moans triggering too much in him for him to risk it being over too quick. She started to move beneath him while he tried to keep his precious control and he pulled back and dug his fingers into her hips to still her.

"No, baby," she said, desperation dripping from her in a way she's never admit to in the light of day, "I need all of you now. We have all night."

He took a deep breath, "I need it to be good for you."

"Then come for me -in me- the way I lost it on that fucking counter, hon," she said softly, touching his face tenderly.

He shook his head. Not listening. "I need you to-"

"Motherfuck, Tim," she exploded, tears in her eyes. Leaning forwards with him inside her, however, did interesting things to both their breathing patterns and it took him a moment to notice. "When are we going to get this chance again? When do you ever lose control? I am giving myself to you! All I'm asking is for you to return the fucking favor!"

So, he rammed into her again, and again. Gaining speed, he took her mouth with to quiet her guttural moans and grunts, as well as his own as he claimed her.

She came apart before he did, tearing her mouth away to breathe and scream her release. "Don't stop," he begged breathlessly twice, before he shuddered, pinning her with his hands as much as his pelvis.

They didn't separate, he didn't even move off her until they'd regained their breath and he looked into her eyes as he rolled to the side and pulled out with mutual gasps.

"Thank you," she kissed him softly, touching his face because she could.

His face was too intent but she couldn't look away. God only knew how she'd leave him in the morning. The mere thought tightened her chest and brought tears to her eyes.

His face changed and his eyes widened, panicking he said, "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

She smiled through her tears and pulled him closer, "Never. I don't want to think about it. Just take that thing off so you can hold me."

He watched her, panic gone, "You're gonna tell me, babe."

"You already know," she sniffed, "Take it off and come back to me."

He slipped from the bed to clean up, too confused to console her.

Tim was not one for emotional sex. He was one for fun sex. He was even open for being one for angry sex, if he ever found a fight, or a woman, worth it. Instead, he found himself dreading going back in there.

He'd told Art she had his soul. But now he felt it. Like he'd lost something to her when he'd lost control.

Part of him wished he was alone with a Mercedes Lackey novel. Maybe there was a new Ministry of Curiosities book out…

She'd possessed him like a demon. He spent the entirety of his adult life and a good portion of his childhood mastering his control. Not flinching when his father raised his hand. Not moving when on a job. He could stay still for days. Literally, not flexing a muscle as the needles came and went. He was admired and praised for his control. It wasn't real. Real people couldn't affect other people this way. But she always had. No matter her name.

Daphne Roman made him jumpy. Made him overly aware of her. She made him sloppy and he'd lost control. She'd made him feel too much, ever since she snuck up on him in Mako's office that first time. He was a stable, quiet sort of guy. He wasn't Raylan, he wasn't angry or vengeful. He wasn't overly protective, he didn't think. His father never hit his mother, so he couldn't say how he would have reacted. She was too cold or drunk to notice when he'd hit Tim.

He took a deep breath when he realized what he was doing.

He hadn't thought about his mother in years. But now his parents' cold, society marriage was on the forefront of his mind. Putting it back in its box on a shelf in his mind, he got a glass of water from the tap. He went to the door with his glass to offer her some water only to find her curled up around the pillow where he'd rested his head after fucking her brains out. She looked thoroughly fucked, lips swollen, hair mussed, and with a curl to the ends of her mouth like she was happy.

Like she was happy in his bed, with something that smelled like him.

Feeling his gaze, she opened her drowsy eyes and reached a hand to him, "Come back to bed, babe."

"You want some water before I do. Because I'm gonna have you again as soon as I can," he said it smugly, hoping her presence would affect his stamina the way it affected his libido. It had been a long time since he'd tried to be anything but a one-trick pony.

She smirked, picking up her head and said, "Then you better bring it over, stud, because you do make me thirsty."

He chuckled and set the glass down before taking her in his arms, and she cuddled close and Tim felt his heart tighten. It felt right. Just holding her in his bed felt better than anything he could remember and he took a deep breath. The air was still thick with the scent of their arousal and sex, and he relaxed.

He woke her again an hour after she'd dozed off in his arms. Pleased to be hard that soon, he started at her throat with his suckling kisses, making them wet and sloppy before blowing on them and watching her skin erupt in goosebumps. She'd twitched and wiped at them before opening her eyes and narrowing them at him. holding her gaze intently, he'd continued his way down between her breasts, fondling and tweaking her nipples gently to keep his hands occupied until he'd reached her belly button. Pulling his hands down to her hips, he invaded it with his tongue, roughly, repeatedly and then picked his head up intent to move to her already wet vagina. She'd watched him, resting on her elbows to keep eye contact. Her gaze had gone fuzzy and her breathing was thick, and he shifted to take the weight off his elbows to finger her when she attacked.

She rolled him onto his back, tackling him down with his head between her thighs. "This would be a hell of a way to go," he muttered, "Better than Sigourney Weaver." Off her quirked eyebrow at his non-sequitur, he shook his head, "Another time."

Dropping down to kiss him, she lay her body against him. Skin to skin contact setting him on fire, he tried to roll over, she resisted, but did nothing but kiss. Slow, relaxed and deep. Her tongue swirling with his, no frenzy or sexual haze, just clean honest desire. She sucked his tongue and her growled. She giggled in response. "I didn't know you laughed, Captain."
She adopted a very prim expression, "Only when the occasion calls for it," and erupted in giggles.

He couldn't help but scoff and laugh too. The movement jostling her breast against him and his erection against her wetness.

Their lightheartedness gave way to easy rocking, rubbing himself against her, not penetrating. She didn't take her eyes off him as he got her close.

He could tell she was close because she kept closing her eyes to come, but she would open them to look at him. Really look. The intimacy turned him on as much as her desire for him. As her breathing started to change, he froze.

Cue death stare. She gaped at the rude interruption and he grinned mischievously, reaching for a condom. He passed it to her and she tore it open, narrowing her eyes at him before ducking down to put it on.

Instead she took him in her mouth and sucked, both hands holding his shaft.

Bucking against her mouth before he could help it, he grabbed her hair and tried to pull her off before he hurt her. She stayed on him like a tick, swallowing his tip as best she could. "Daph- " he groaned unrecognizably.

She picked her head up, satisfaction at besting him in her eyes. "Yes, hon?"

"Will you just put that on me and ride me, please?" he said, more turned on than exasperated but not wanting her to know that.

"If you insist," she shrugged and slid it on him with a few unnecessary tugs and squeezes. She rose up and positioned herself over him. Dropping onto him, she lost her breath as she worked her way onto his girth. Rocking as she worked him deeper, his eyes started to roll back in his head, feeling her tight folds engulf him, he gasped as she sank to take all of him.

His eyes opened to take in her in all her glory above him. Hair in wild waves, eyes, dark and hooded, riding him like a war goddess into battle.

Athena, eat your heart out.

Oh, God. Baseball. What did he know about-

Her body tightened around him and he strained not to come. She was so close, he only had to wait for her to explode around him. Only had to wait for her to moan in that special octave. Then he could lose it. She was grinding into him, eyes unfocused but on his face. Then her head tipped back and she started moaning, as they lowered in pitch they got louder. He figured it was distinct to her, once she hit it, she shuddered, gasping and moaning in the same breaths. He let out his breath as a moan of his own, and his load, as she finished quaking above him.

She collapsed onto him, force of her orgasm making her weak in his arms. He held her tightly to him, his aftershocks making him shudder. She tipped her face to him and he brushed her hair out of the way to kiss her.

It wasn't the kiss he'd intended.

He just wanted to offer a brief, reassuring, almost peck of a kiss.

Instead it was a slow, shallow, exploration that took what was left of their breath away. And it confused her as much as him.

"I don't know what I'm doing with you."

"It has gotten away from us bit."

She woke him by scratching his head. It wasn't quite five yet, but she had to be gone before the sun. Explaining why they'd stayed in town was possible, explaining her presence in Tim's apartment was not. He blinked at her, her expression was enough of a reason to be awake. They'd clung to each other in sleep. She'd stiffened when she'd realized that, his near comatose reaction was to pull her closer and nuzzle the breast that he rested his head on.

Upon waking, however, he merely pulled her mouth to his for another one of those kisses that got away from them. Breaking it for breath, he whispered, "How much time do we have?"

"I need a shower," she tried to memorize his face, "I smell like you."

"Not as much as you could," he didn't blink, just moved above her.

She lay back to take him. Boneless and weak in the face of his desire. Or hers. Was there even a difference?

He kissed her mouth softly. Keeping his mouth closed he showered her face with kisses, while she pulled him to her, he entered her without protection and she didn't move to stop him.

She'd been medically cleared hours after the distillery disaster and she had been on the shot for the duration of her assignment. It would still be effective for weeks more. Condoms weren't altogether necessary, but she had always used them, it was her habit.

She didn't want him to realize his mistake, to leave her empty and wanting. He tried to work in to her, she was drier, but not dry. The stretching focused her, made her feel his invasion more. She moved one hand to the back of his head as he moved to manipulate her clitoris to stimulate her juices.

It only took a moment.

She dripped onto his hand, grinding against him. His bare cock inside her, hitting all the right spots.

He kept his eyes on her. "Come for me, babe." Gasp, "Just let go."

Like she had a choice.

Moaning, she saw stars, waiting for him to explode inside her. Anticipation of taking all him being sweeter than her own climax.

And he pulled out, releasing on her belly, dripping down the sides of her torso.

She swallowed down her disappointment with a bitter familiarity. After all, she was little more than a glorified whore. "I do more than smell like you now," she said too brightly, too soon.

Still getting his breath back, he just responded, "I like it."

She gave him a look.

"You belong to me."

He said it so softly, she almost didn't catch it. Closing her eyes for control, she said, "I could use someone to wash my back."

He rose and offered her a hand to escort her to the shower.

The shower was steamy and desperate. He only left her alone long enough for her to pee and him to fetch clean towels from the hall. Memorizing every line, curve and scar of his body, she let him soap her up, let him focus his attention on her breasts and legs, let him pull her close while he kneaded her ass. They didn't kiss in there, which didn't occur to her as being odd until after the door had closed behind her. He dried her off, dripping on his floor while he did so. She waited for him before she went in to dress. Holding onto him whenever possible.

"What do we tell Davy?"
"What?" the question came out of left field.

"Well, I doubt that he was pleased about that picture and I doubt he was happy to learn we'd met," Tim looked at the floor, buttoning his pants with a single-minded focus.

"He doesn't know." Was that unclear? "It was a bluff. Yes, it was his picture but he stores stuff at my place all the time. His pictures are all there. I didn't get it from him. He doesn't know what I do," she sat, pulling her leggings back on. "I'm sure he suspects, he's not dumb. I disappear frequently. He knew how angry I was when my team was disbanded and how I got my captaincy. But he doesn't know anything. About what I do or you and I."

Tim stared. "We're a 'you and I' now?"

"Don't do that. I told you you couldn't look for me. We only had last night. 'Wake you before I go'?" she stammered. "I told you."

He was coldly composed. Completely withdrawn into himself. Completely controlled. "You did. My bad."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" feigned innocence abounded. "I'm watching a woman I care way too much about dress to leave me in her dust and I'm not supposed to look for her." His voice turned bitter as he spoke and she flinched.

She just looked at him, straightened her sweater and turned to go.

"Just gonna walk away?" He didn't move towards her.

"You want me to fight you?" she stared at him incredulously. "You want to pick a fight with me as I'm supposed to go? Couldn't do this last night?"

"I wasn't sure I'd care enough to fight you."

"You have to care to fight? You've been fighting me since you met me."

"I know, just took me a minute," he said simply, resignedly, and put on a t-shirt. "I'm sure there's someone waiting on you. You should go."

Part of her wanted to cry. Part of her wanted to cling to him. Most of her just wanted to smack him for trying to spoil the wonderfulness of their night together, to try and make the sweet bitter.

Crossing the room purposefully, she caught him and kissed him hard. It didn't take a second before he took control of the kiss and deepened it. He tangled his hand in her damp hair and pulled her head back to kiss under her ear and felt her knees go weak. "You're gonna remember me as well as I remember you," he whispered like a curse.

She met his cold eyes, "That's all I wanted."

He let go of her and she slipped out the door, turning to meet his eyes. Then closed the door behind her.

Tim declined Raylan's invitation to dinner. He'd enjoyed playing with little Willa the night before, but the tension was uncomfortable as they were imploding again.

Raylan was never home and Winona was always on the phone with her mother or taking Willa to her mother's rather than letting him take care of her.

A night in front of his laptop and bad cable with a beer was downright peaceful.

He'd been putting together a map of St. Thomas's interests, trying to see where the crossover between him and the Romans was, when he heard a car pull up. And he was checking his phone for the time when something slammed on his door. Twice.

Davy was kicking the door as his arms were full of his sister, and stepped past him saying, "I figure from the looks on your face earlier, she'll be safe here."

"What happened?" He helped set her more gently on one of the beds, tugging her shoes off and brushing her hair out of her face before covering her with the other half of the bedspread.

"Exhaustion, antibiotics, and the 'sedative effects of painkillers'," he said disdainfully. "Her buddy was the doctor, but I think he probably slipped her an actual sedative or two."

"She ok?"

Davy turned to face Tim, "Do you know what my sister's job consists of that she'd be shot at?"

Shit, Davy didn't know anything?

He moved to shut the door but Davy ducked out and pulled a duffel and a computer bag from the car. Tim eyed the computer bag cautiously, but set it near his own, when Davy returned. "How much do you know about her job?"

"How much do you know? Since you never bothered mentioning you'd met?" Davy countered.

"I never mentioned it because I wasn't supposed to look for her and she made it clear we were never going to see each other again. When I mentioned telling you, she- I- "he stammered before finishing lamely, "we argued."

"You slept with my sister," he said flatly.

Tim looked at the floor, then returned eye contact to own it, "I slept with your sister."

"What was she doing when you met?"

"I had to sign non-disclosure forms about that," he said meaningfully.

"My sister was a diver in the navy until they paid for an engineering degree or two and now she runs a lab outside of DC where she helps design underwater equipment," Davy said, "Or so, I've been told, for a good few years now.

"But she comes home for the first time in seventeen fucking years, looking and smelling like she's been in a war zone and having a bullet graze. A wound she doesn't remember getting because there was so much action."

Tim recognized Davy's anger and fuming. He also remembered his temper. Davy was an efficient brawler and had no qualms about making the first punch. And he'd just admitted to sleeping with his sister.

"I met her when she was undercover," he offered softly. "I- cared- for her before I knew her name or that she didn't need saving."

Davy snorted. "My sister has never needed saving in her life. She's probably tougher than the old man and just as dangerous. You're a fool to fall in love with her."

"I didn't- "

"Cut the shit. I have eyes. She's not like you. She doesn't need to be saved. Nobody made her anything she didn't want to be. She was spying? She was a honey trap in a little dress, with her big eyes and you tripped?"

Tim looked at Daphne, resting on the bed, pale and wounded and still under attack.

"Get out, Davy."

"Did you come here to help me because I asked or because you wanted to see her?" he asked, not moving.

"I came here to help you." Tim kept his tone soft and even, not to wake her, "I was never going to see her again. That was the deal. Now leave."

Davy just clenched his jaw and stepped into Tim's space. "She's not whatever you think she is."

"Why did you bring her here if you don't want me near her?"

"Because I can't bring her home. She's marime, she can never go back there. And you're in love with her," he spat the words. "She's safe with you. You're just not safe with her."

"Thank you," Tim said flatly, "for your concern. Now, get out."

Davy's black eyes, now reminding him of Daphne's, flicked between his own. "I'd rather not imagine how she got your loyalty, but remember who had your back in the sandbox."

"She's had my back since," Tim said softly. "She's not whatever you think she is either."

Davy didn't want to hear it. So, he took a swing at him.

Tim wasn't entirely prepared for the blow, he stumbled back with it glancing off his jaw rather than full contact, before rushing Davy into the table. The pair toppled to the floor, rolling for the best angles for shots at the other's midsection.

Daphne woke in the commotion. It took a good minute for her bearings, where Tim had gotten a kidney shot or two in, but when she had them she whistled shrilly for their attention. "What the fuck?"

Davy had the decency to look abashed, Tim just pushed him off and stood. "Settling a debate."

Davy looked grateful for his half-truth but still continued, "You interrupted, so we're still at an impasse."

"Seriously?" Tim asked.

She stood precariously and Tim moved to catch her as she tilted. She accepted his hand as Davy started to shoot him death glares. Nose to nose with her brother, she said, "Leave the boy scout alone. He knows the score better than you do and I won't let anything happen to him."

"You let you happen to him."

"Davy- "Tim started.

"I won't let anything happen to him," she repeated, but something in her tone or face that Tim couldn't see made Davy's face change.

"This can only end in tears."

"Thanks, bro," she said dryly as he left.

When the door shut, she sagged onto the bed. "Why am I here?"

"He said you'd be safer. He couldn't take you home." He sat next to her, careful to keep space between them. "I can see about getting you a room."

"I have a reservation for tomorrow. I'm sorry, he could have left me at the hospital," she started to rise.

He caught her wrist, pulling her into his lap and holding her gingerly, "I want you here. There's two beds. I'll keep my distance, just- "

She moved to put her arms around his neck, whispering, "I don't want your distance. Do you want mine?"

He pressed his forehead to hers, shaking his head and breathing her in, "I'm sorry I'm an ass."

"I'm sorry I left."

"That was the deal. I knew that, I just didn't like it."

"Tim- "

"I know it's still the deal. I get it."

She looked at him, adrenaline from breaking up the fight waning. "It's not though. It's a clusterfuck, but it's not the deal anymore." She yawned, turning away and pressing her hand to his cheek. "I get to go home now. Only days and week away, not months and years." Her black eyes imploring him for something he wasn't sure he understood.

His chest tightened. "Rest, you can explain what you can later." He moved the covers for her to lie back.

She didn't let go of him, "Sleep with me?"

He snorted, trying to tuck her in around her outstretched arms, "Try and stop me." Kissing her forehead, he started toeing his boots off, he pulled off his t-shirt after he hit the lights and slid in on the side between her and the door.

She nestled close and he rubbed her back as softly as he could but she stiffened, "Davy said you'd been shot?"

He could feel her pursing her lips in the dark. "It's a graze. The cracked rib is far more uncomfortable than the stitches."

He pulled his hand from her back. "What's the other guy look like?"

"At this point, bloated with maggots."

He smiled, "Good."

Daphne didn't know what had woken her but she didn't like it.

Her body was stiff and aching but she couldn't bring herself to move at the risk of losing her dream of being in his bed again. She didn't know who she was with but in her mind, it was Tim and she wanted to stay there with him, for a while longer.

Reality was intruding with the light and gradually her screaming, battered nerves allowed her to feel that she was in a bed, however uncomfortable it was, and she opened her eyes to check out the damage the way she had avoided previously.

Until it was Tim next to her.

He was awake, playing on his phone, with one hand. The other was holding her. "Thought you were going to sleep longer?"

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no words came.

He put his phone down to pass her a bottle of water from the nightstand. She sat up to take it and he kissed her forehead and pulled his arm back so quickly she knew it had to have fallen asleep. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower and you can tell me about your job when we go to breakfast."

She hadn't closed her mouth yet, and he was gone with a peck on her forehead before she could do more than croak. Downing the water, she closed her eyes and scrolled through how much she could actually tell him.

Her mind filtered through the past few days, then months. Before waking up here, there had been the thing with Davy, the hospital, the marshal's office, the debriefing, the days spent on her mission. Before that had been the briefings and meetings about other missions, about her team's reconstituted status, about her decision to blow her cover while acting under another agency's purview. About her relationship with Deputy Tim Gutterson. She guzzled the water as soon as she was sure she could drink without choking.

Did he know her boss's boss knew his name and record now? Would he be ok with that? She didn't think she was 'ok' with it, per se, but it was her life and she knew why it was. She knew where her decisions had led her. He didn't, and she couldn't explain why it was like that, only that it was. She should call in and report. There should be a cell in her bag.

"You want a shower?" he stuck his head out, having taken maybe fifteen minutes of her lost-in-thought time, and returned freshly shaved, hair wet.

She shook her head, then nodded.

"Are you ok?"

"Huh? Yeah, just trying to think and failing," she laughed at herself, just wanting to sleep for the next thirty years but not wanting to miss time with him before he realized he didn't want what was involved with being in her life and left.

It was honestly easier to build an explosive charge out of a fifties' corded phone than try to navigate her feelings right now.

He just looked at her, "you got flip flops?"

"Huh?"

"There's a continental breakfast at the hotel office," he said slowly, opening her duffle slowly. Presumably so she could stop him before he violated any privacies that would bother her. "We can grab you something there to eat on the way to something that will actually fill you up."

"I'm not hungry. Can you pass me a phone if you find one?"

"Is that why you've lost weight?" he said, not believing her, but tossing her the Samsung from a side pocket.

She stiffened, battery was three percent, saying absently, "I have not. Charger?" She hadn't, she'd just been working out more in the past few months in sexual frustration was all. The scale was exactly the same.

Clenching his jaw, Tim pulled out a pair of black flip flops and the charger and brought them to her. "You're exhausted and injured and taking antibiotics. You need food. Did you have anything to eat last night?"

She had to think back to the roll and jello.

At her pause, he continued, "I'm gonna punch Davy."

"Before or after he punches you again?" she shot back.

"So, your brain only works when you're being a smartass?"

"It's the default setting," she agreed, leaning back on the pillows to plug the charger in. Then she started to settle in.

He pulled her out, saying, "While it's not a bad idea, you sleeping all day, you need a meal. C'mon."

She stopped resisting and she was inches from his face without warning, eyes going to his mouth, while muttering, "I should brush my teeth."

"You should," he agreed, eyes on hers, "I have plans for that mouth."

She felt his eyes on her as she stepped to the bathroom to shower. Not breathing until the door shut.

Captain Daphne Roman, occasional spy and sex pot, looked like shit.

She hadn't looked in the tiny mirror in the hospital, not even when she brushed her teeth. But now, now she looked like a Lifetime movie. Where her cheek was a browning purple and her hairline cut had a greenish halo. Taking her shirt off, her torso was mottled under the wrap. She gasped, untaping it and looked at the maze on her back.

During the fight, she and her opponent had rolled only to fall four feet off a rocky ledge onto the next one. He'd landed on top of her and the pattern of sticks and stones was there intermingling with where he'd kicked her in his moments of the upper hand.

Tim knocked on the door, "Daph?"

She looked at the outlines of her ribcage. She did look like she lost weight. The graze was only slightly inflamed. It was also where he'd gotten a couple of shots in, she attributed any pain from that to the cracked rib.

Tim let himself in and gaped. "What the fuck?"

"He really does look worse than me." She said idly, knowing defensiveness wasn't going to keep the boy scout in him from trying to protect her. She didn't bother covering herself as she turned around.

His eyes heated despite himself as he said, "Where's his body so I can give it a couple of good kicks?" He moved to touch her and stopped himself.

"You know I can't answer that." She swallowed, "I see why you think I've lost weight though."

He smirked, "Oh, you see? Take your shower. I'll help tape you back up." He shut the door behind him, too quickly and she turned on the water to cover how bereft he left her.

"Hey," he said through the door, "This is the last time you get to be wet and naked without me."

She smiled.

Tim had only found a sad, stale croissant that she refused to eat, saying she could hold out fine and would take the painkillers with breakfast if she wanted to. He warned her that Raylan and Greg, the other marshals would probably be there. She nodded, "Are you going to be in shit because I spent the night in your hotel room?"

"I'm on vacation, I can't question or arrest anyone officially but I can sleep with who I want within reason."

"And the gypsy's disowned granddaughter is within reason?"

"Is that what 'marime' means?"

She turned to him, "Where did you hear that?"

"Davy said it. Said it was why you couldn't go home."

She returned to staring straight ahead. "It means defiled, polluted, and outcast. Grandpa and the other elders told me I was going to be married. I didn't want to be. I was told I had no choice, it was my duty. I, then, snuck out and set a convenience store on fire. It was under FBI surveillance so the judge was lenient, and I agreed to enlist upon my release from juvie," she said dispassionately. Reciting a well-rehearsed story.

A story that independent agencies and LEO's had verified. It was the only story the Marshals had access to, "Did you know it was under surveillance?"

She smirked, "I was fifteen, Tim. How would I know that?"

"That argument would get farther if I hadn't met your family first," he pulled into the Denny's.

She smiled at him, "If the men who raised me could recognize FBI surveillance van, you wouldn't have nearly as many files to go through."

"None of that is a denial."

She tilted her head at him, "It's not, is it?"

He opened her door for her and set her a on the concrete above the parking lot, so they were eye to eye, "You are not to be underestimated, and I intend to take full advantage of that."

"Oh?" she leaned closer.

"After you eat," he kissed her nose and pulled her to the door as she laughed briefly.

He attributed her looseness to being without assignment, and hoped they'd be alone. So, naturally, Greg waved to them as they came in. No doubt having seen their display in the parking lot from their booth.

Raylan shifted to sit next to him so Tim could sit with Daphne in the booth. Tim nodded his appreciation to him and Raylan shrugged. He felt her eyes flicker between Raylan and himself, before moving on.

Greg smiled warmly, "We didn't get a chance to meet yesterday, Chief Deputy Greg Sutton, Captain."

Raylan apparently still wasn't reading files by the way his eyebrows shot up. "She outrank you?" he asked as the waitress returned.

"In the navy, yes," Tim confirmed, before ordering with Raylan making faces about wheat over white and over easy eggs.

Daphne had shaken Greg's hand across the table and watched the pair in amusement, exchanging glances with Greg, who stage whispered, "They've been like this for days. I was hoping they'd behave with you here but- "he shrugged, "You look a lot better."

"Thank you, "she smiled and placed her own order. "That's what brothers do," she confirmed after finishing. "Especially the ones you're not related to."

Raylan tried to look affronted, but settled for looking at him like an indulgent older brother and said, "we've been waiting for him to bring a girl home," then he stiffened like he'd remembered something, and tried to cover it by continuing, "So, Senior doesn't like you much?"

Greg stiffened at that one and opened his mouth before Tim could.

She merely smiled, definitely blinking too much, and said, "Seems like your familiar with the concept?"

Tim had noticed similarities between Arlo's behavior and the senior Roman's, but left it to Raylan to handle. He shook his head slightly when Raylan's eyes flicked to him.

Daphne continued, "Like knows like, Deputy. Was dad a con or just a son-of-a-bitch?"

Tim took a deep breath but Raylan said, "Both. Never tried to marry me off though."

"You probably didn't grow in one of the few remaining cultures where arranged marriage is not only accepted but as common as drinking."

He nodded, "True enough."

Greg looked at Tim with his eyebrows up, before Raylan continued, "What did they mean that things are in flux?"

"That they expect me to dissuade Davy from his plan to have to law save the family rather than the family save itself," she sipped her tea stiffly.

"Did you take one?" Tim asked.

"Nope," she said not setting the cup down. "The DOD has been following the situation. Davy called, but I wouldn't have bothered to be without being told clean it up before it could blow up. We both have clearances that would make the family getting caught doing plan A… awkward."

"The DOD knows what Michael Roman's plan A is?" Raylan asked incredulously.

"I do. It'll end badly."

"So, you wouldn't do it?" Greg asked.

"Its not a bad plan. He just doesn't have the people to cover the angles. And the elders are too arrogant to admit that. This generation of Kris Romani are not known for their forethought," she sipped her tea and winced when she turned to the returning waitress.

Tim waited for her to take a bite before he said, "Take it."

"Take what?" Greg asked.

"Painkiller." He didn't look away from her.

She scowled at him and popped a pill, swallowed it with her tea, and stuck her tongue out at him.

Greg snickered but Raylan nodded his approval. He understood her aversion to them, Tim supposed. He paused uncomfortably aware of the similarities in their backgrounds. She was his.

"St. Thomas lost his mother at age 3, the sister who raised him from that point at age 12 and was sent to a boarding school that was later closed to systematic abuse on discovered after the bullying complaints made the local news." She started between bites of pancakes. "He started seeing psychics after he spent time in the Virgin Islands and traveled to Haiti. That was their angle to steal from him.

"Paulie was a particular favorite of Mama Verita. She was a fortune teller f the previous generation of Kris Romani. They hated her, she knew all their shit," she took a sip of her tea, "Paulie would go over there rather than be bullied by the other kids."

"The other kids would bully one of Michael Roman's children," Greg asked.

"Children are cruel. Gypsy children particularly because we're encouraged to be. And Paulie is different. If Mikey had been inclined he may have protected him, but they're competition for Granpa's position with the elders."

"How?"

"By rights, the eldest should inherit. Or the one with children. Neither have been particularly fruitful and while Mikey is older, Paulie is wiser. And Mikey knows it. Putting Paulie on the counsel makes more sense, but Paulie is gay so, he'll never be accepted by the counsel either. Putting Mikey in the counsel is easy but won't help the family," she explained. "Mama Verita taught Paulie how to cold read. And run a psychic con, the research, the interviews, where to look for things. She'd done it her whole life."

"You spend a lot of time with Mama Verita," Greg asked, motioning for a refill on his coffee.

"A half-breed bastard? A bit, yeah," she smiled. "She was kind and knew shit. Useful shit. She was in her eighties when I knew her. Paulie would send me there to keep me out of trouble. She was one of the only people who would stand up to the elders. They wouldn't listen, per se, but she had shit on them, it looked like. When she passed, they burnt her trailer and everything inside it. Paulie made a stink about how wrong it was, didn't make him friends with the elders. Anyway, Paulie definitely conned St. Thomas and he wants the money and probably to make an example out of him. But Cruz took the money and ran, probably at Mikey's behest."

"How much money?" Raylan asked.
"Three hundred thousand, near as we can tell," she resumed eating her pancakes.

"Near as we can tell?"

"I have people. I've been busy elsewhere, people on my team were putting most of that together while I was doing my job."

"What is your job? Tim never mentioned you or your job and your file says you run a lab. Since when does running a lab involve busted knuckles?" Raylan pressed.

"Running a lab is hands on work, deputy, you should keep an open mind," she said as Greg was opening his mouth to intercede.

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