"You can't go to sleep." Rachel reaches over and pokes Raylan hard.

"OW." He moans, giving the vowel sound that extra bit of wobbly pathos which Rachel's sure has women throwing themselves at his feet in droves.

Right here, right now, she doesn't care. He needs to stay awake. They both need to stay with the program or they are in serious trouble.

Raylan's hurt his neck, and the crash has messed up his left shoulder some. He's better than he was, because his arm's no longer dangling at a very strange angle, all floppy and useless.

Good thing one of us paid attention in mandatory first aid training, huh!

Rachel used the two triangular bandages from the first aid kit to support and immobilize his arm, there's no surgical collar in the first aid kit but she manages to improvise something from some duct tape and a folded newspaper.

Sunday edition.

Rachel scowls at Raylan's joke, this really isn't funny. She isn't even going to begin to pretend that her badly twisted knee doesn't hurt like hell. That they are not trapped in an old shack, miles from where they were t-boned by the truck belonging to their fugitive's brother in law, that it's not twelve below zero and she really hates the cold weather. That Raylan isn't ever so slightly spacey and is having some problems with blurred vision.

She can't pretend. She has never been a pretender.

Tiny twist of bitterness. Joe married her because she was calm, logical, focused, practical Rachel. She knows that now.

She wishes she could actually manage to be calm, logical, focused and practical about this revelation. Or even this situation.

She can't. She wants to scream and cry and throw things… because just once she doesn't want to be the adult in these situations. The only trouble is, Raylan has somehow managed to insinuate himself into her lap. He's lying in her arms. She can't do any of those things because he's lying there, and he's surprisingly heavy despite his willowy build, if she moves too much she's scared she'll hurt him.

"You had better be pretending to be asleep." She growls. A little menace. Not much. Menace with Raylan really never works. He's completely impervious to menace.

He cracks open an eye and stares at her. She'd be happier if he opened both eyes, but right now, one will do.

He's shivering a little, but then so is she, him lying in her lap is warming her up ever so slightly.

"Huh." He says.

Not much of a word, but it doesn't seem slurred.

"Open the other eye," she says.

"If I do that, I see two of you."

"You'got both eyes open, I know yo'ain't sleepin'." She lays it on a little thick.

"Two Rachels. I don't hardly keep up with one." He responds. He opens both eyes.

However many times she tells herself that she really shouldn't and couldn't, and can't and won't and it would be really really bad if she did; she finds herself diving into those heavenly hazel depths.

He has beautiful eyes. They go perfectly with the beautiful, exotic, rest of him.

She didn't just say that.

At least it wasn't out loud.

She's met Arlo. But apparently Raylan favours his mother. There's a rumour that a couple of generations back there is some French aristocracy in Raylan's bloodline. Which would explain Raylan's exotic good looks.

There's always rumours though, and that one may just be as cock-eyed and off-base as the other ones, but the romantic in Rachel would like to think that at least is true.

The hat still doesn't fit, but it's squarely on top of her head. Something about heat loss through the top of her head, and shared bodily warmth, which partly explains why Raylan has managed to somehow cover her lap with his body. He's snuggled against her, they have his winter coat spread out over as much of both of them as it will cover.

Their captors didn't even bother to lock them in. She can't walk without support, and Raylan's injuries rather preclude him from helping her.

They are overdue by at least three hours, but they are safe, one of their captors had somehow grown a conscience, so they have some bottles of water. They still have the first aid kit, and there's some Tylenol. Not that Raylan can have any, but it's good to know it's there.

She knows Art's gonna be mad. She'll deal with that later. Right now she holds that thought in her mind, right now she needs Tim and/or Nelson, and maybe Art to get them out of there. They may not be in immediate danger, but it can't be good them in this cold place in the depths of winter, all banged up like they are.

Raylan rubs his cheek against her arm, there's this tired look on his face, and the suggestion of lines of pain that weren't there half an hour ago. His eyes are closed.

"Not sleeping," he says. And she wants to believe him, but she also knows that if anything happens to him now, here, she would never forgive herself.

She hates herself for making him open his eyes, because the lines of pain settle deeper, but he rallies. She bends her head, and gently kisses his temple. Spontaneous, just pure comfort, she hates that he's in pain, and she can't give him anything to take his pain away.

She remembers the last time she saw that weary, pained look on his face. When he was thinking out loud about how he hoped that Lyndsey liked him for himself. The trail that lead him to a van full of poultry told him otherwise.

She gives him another gentle kiss. He deserves it, sometimes she feels as though no one knows how to love him, and receiving no love, he's unsure of how to give it himself.

His eyes open slowly and he looks up at her. There's a softness in his gaze that she could have put down to the side effects of his injuries, but she realizes that's not true, for one pure moment she sees Raylan Givens without his defenses.

He's lowered his guard for her. It may be this one time only. She feels humbled by the experience. This awkward, angry, beautiful man drops his defenses for her.

Just the vague hint of a smile crosses his face, and she gently eases his body a little closer.

They settle to wait, just watching each other.