"Have they gone?" Tim turned his head to squint at the door.
"Yeah." Boyd shifted uncomfortably, for once not going into a torrent of extra explanation.
"Raylan?" Tim nudged his fellow marshal with his elbow and was rewarded with a grunt. Tim turned as far as he was able and squinted at his partner. "Raylan… turn your head and look at me."
The response was so slow, Tim felt a moment of panic. Then he was looking into Raylan's eyes, noting with some alarm that not only were his pupils blown, they were distinctly different sizes. Great. Concussion.
"Raylan?"
"Huh…" the slow blink didn't do anything to reassure Tim.
"If we have to move fast, can you?"
A look crossed Raylan's face, there was a chink of a chain hitting a pipe.
"The being attached to this pipe might be a bit of an insurmountable obstacle to that particular plan." Boyd answered for Raylan.
If Raylan didn't have a concussion, Tim might almost have been enjoying this. He drew his foot up to within reach of his fingers. "Have a little faith, Boyd."
"Oh I have faith, son…" Boyd stared at Tim's contortions as he managed to bring his bootlaces up close to his straining fingers. "Wha'cha doin'?"
"I have a Raylan-proof kit." Tim ignored the snort from his injured partner. "Partnered with Raylan, check, anything and everything can happen, check, plan accordingly, check, factor in his crazy friend from the hollers, check and check." Tim grinned. "And here we are. Shanghaied. Handcuffed to a radiator in a tiny, freezing cold office, in a bank that's being robbed. Only some crazy-ass idiot decided to kidnap Boyd Crowder, because only Boyd can blow the safe. I admit I didn't see all this when I got up this morning, but the apocalypse? I've got that covered."
Boyd actually scowled.
Raylan groaned, and Tim's fingers renewed their attack on his bootlaces. "Oh and the radiator doesn't work, so if we're still here tonight we're gonna freeze…. That's if they don't kill us first." His bootlaces unknotted, Tim started to work his boot off carefully. The straining and twisting was making his wrists sore, but the pay off would be worth it. Finally his fingers managed to close around the small slim object. The temptation to snatch was almost too much, but he closed his fingers slowly around it and pulled it out.
Now he needed to concentrate, between the slowly wilting Raylan right next to him, and the tired and irritable Boyd eighteen inches to his left, there wasn't much room for adjustments. Feeling the key hole with his finger, getting the key in the hole without dropping it, twisting it, feeling it click and suddenly the bracelet was loose on his wrist. Elated he reached for the cuffs securing Raylan. His partner wasn't doing so well, Raylan flopped against his shoulder, and Tim had to push him upright to get the cuffs loose enough to undo. When Raylan was free, Tim eased him down onto the floor and turned his attentions to Boyd.
The whole thing couldn't have taken more than five minutes, but time was definitely a-wastin' and Tim wanted out of there. He wanted his guns back. He needed to get Raylan checked out. Beyond that he wasn't about to think.
Focus. That was what made Tim such a good sniper. Focus, and details. A wilting partner, and his sometime, thus far unproven, criminal "friend" to deal with. Most days Tim didn't know if they loved each other or they hated each other. Both emotions seemed to breed passionate hostility. Sometimes that passionate hostility bust out in unfortunate ways. They once broke a glass door in the office during one of their more spectacular disagreements.
Tim sighed inwardly, pulled off his jacket, rolled it up and put it gently under Raylan's head. "Raylan, don't go to sleep." He gave him a careful push with his hand, and was rewarded with a grumpy mutter. "Wass…"
"He's hurt, he needs medical attention." Tim looked up at Boyd, "I need to get him and you out of here. Do you think you can manage not to commit any criminal acts between now and then."
"Oh I am sure I can manage that Deputy Gutterson." Intense hazel eyes blazed into his, but Tim wasn't about to become a believer based on Boyd Crowder's say so. But Boyd's word had to be good enough right now, because Tim needed him.
"I need you to stay here with Raylan." Tim's breathing hitched just a little as he said it, "Please don't hurt him."
He wasn't keen on the crafty look on Boyd Crowder's face, but right then Raylan's safety, and continuing good health relied on what he could to get them out of this, and Boyd Crowder was the only thing he could use to protect Raylan. He knew he had betrayed his own feelings for Raylan, but that wasn't something he needed to deal with right then and there.
Tim looked around at what they could use to block the door.
It was an internal room, with big heavy filing cabinets, a table and chair and nothing else. "Help me shift these." Together he and Boyd shifted two cabinets in front of the door.
"If you don' mind me sayin' Deputy Gutterson, that's the one and only door." Boyd slipped into backwoods hillbilly at the drop of a hat, "how do you propose to save your, mine and Raylan's asses from in here?"
Tim jerked a thumb at the grill over the vent, "through there." He pulled the table over to the wall carefully avoiding his injured partner, and jumped up on it. A simple grill, four screws, and Tim was thankful that he had planned ahead. The screwdriver was small on the tiny little knife concealed in his other boot, but if he was careful, he could get the vent off pretty quick. He went to work.
"Do you even have a plan, Marshal?"
"Yeah. I get out of here, you stay here with Raylan, while I go and alert my boss to our situation here. While I'm out there, do you think you could stay in here and do that for me?"
The grill fell off in Tim's hands, he checked the space, thanked someone that he kept himself trim, "you might want to use the table to shelter behind." He said in a conversational sort of way. "Just in case."
"I was fixin' to do something stupid, but hey, hidin' is jus' fine."
Tim examined the vent, it was dusty and he knew he was going to get filthy crawling through the tiny space. Oh Ray-Ray, the things I do for you.