Once the uproar surrounding the accidental wounding of a US Marshal had died down a little, and Tim's minor flesh wound, or hideous gash according to Rachel, had been cleaned up and dressed with a pressure bandage, Tim decided to fill the team in.
"I'm going back in. You need someone behind them to be able to take them without killing half the hostages and I need to get Raylan and Boyd out of there."
"Tim, you're wounded." Tim really, REALLY hated it when Art was being really fatherly and reasonable. He wanted to shout at his boss, because Raylan was in there. Raylan was hurt and he didn't trust Boyd Crowder one bloody inch.
"It's a graze. Nothing." Tim pulled his vest from the trunk of Raylan's Town Car, pulled a back up Glock from the lockbox, "besides the Glock's a Marshals' gun but the Sig is my own. I like that gun. And the Beretta." Don't mention Raylan, if you mention Raylan, you are going to give yourself away because your stomach is doing nervous jumping jacks, and you are going tell the whole office…
"When you get that look, I know there's no way I can stop you. Is there?" Art sighed, he did not like the take-'em-from-two-sides plan, it had all the potential of an Irish firing squad. His people mixed up with SWAT, all gung ho and itchy trigger fingers, it did not have the aroma of success.
Despite Rachel being an obvious candidate to go crawling around in the vent with Tim, Art wasn't going to let her go in there. Tim, well… Tim had a reason, tall, lanky, wearing a cowboy hat and dragging a whole mess of trouble everywhere he went. The only reason Art was letting Tim go, was that he was certain the boy would go anyway. Tim had been positively vibrating with the need to get back to Raylan and Art's chances of stopping him, short of clapping him in prison shackles, were exactly nil.
Raylan forced an eyelid open. He wasn't a religious man, but since he had a sick headache and it was increasingly difficult to fight sleep, prayer seemed like it might be a good thing. He closed his eye again. Please Tim, come get me.
A gentle hand laid on his neck, knuckles rubbed very carefully through the hair at his nape, it felt good.
"Raylan" Boyd's voice. "Raylan, you need to stay awake now. C'mon." The hand was still gentle, still stroking the back of his neck, still grounding him. Raylan made a huge effort and managed to open both eyes.
Big mistake. Huge…
There were two of Boyd, and each Boyd had a kind of fuzzy blurry second outline, so technically there were four of Boyd. And Raylan's headache was skewering his brain like Nix's ice-pick. There was something like a blinding flash and Raylan screwed his eyes closed, whimpering at the pain.
"Raylan… Raylan…" That gentle hand was actually stroking his hair now, and that felt good.
"Fuckin' hurts." Raylan growled irritably.
Boyd knew Raylan didn't swear much, so it probably really did hurt a lot. But Raylan sounded better, more together than he had half an hour ago, so Boyd would take that as comfort that Raylan Givens was not about to drop down dead on him. Which was good, because if Raylan did, Tim Gutterson would surely have Boyd's hide mounted on his trophy wall.
Tim was crawling back up the dirty vent, only this time with the added ache of a bullet wound in his arm. It was just a very minor flesh wound, but that didn't make the ache any less painful, nor the heat radiating from the hole, and the blood held at bay by the pressure bandage… and Tim really had to stop thinking about the hole in his arm, or the bump on Raylan's head, and the blood, or he wasn't going to be a bit of damn good to Raylan.
He left his two SWAT shadows at the grill which lead to the main floor area, and slithered along to where he by-passed the goon in the back passage.
Only the gun thug wasn't there. They were going to breach in two minutes, and the idiot wasn't even where he was supposed to be, and Tim was going to have to drop into the corridor, without knowing where the idiot was and dammit, didn't this always happen to Tim. Save the day without a rifle. Just the standard issue Glock. He wanted his Sig.
He eased into position, the guy was probably patrolling, or what passed for patrolling with ignorant thugs, so if he just waited a minute or two, the idiot would come back around and then they would be a go. Provided that SWAT didn't jump the gun. Tim tested the grill with his foot carefully. It would give under a good kick.
BLAM! The shot echoed in the enclosed space. Tim swore, someone had gone early, he could hear pounding feet below, and there was his target. It was go for it, or miss the opportunity. Tim timed his entry.
The grill fell at his first kick, hitting the man below. Unfortunately, the guy didn't go down at the same time, but spun around and pumped two shots through the vent. Tim drew down and fired twice. Then he was dropping into the corridor. In Ranger mode, the guy was bigger, but Tim's shots had both found a home. Behind him were gunshots and screams, his quarry was down. Tim searched for weapons, swiftly cuffed him and headed at a purposeful trot to the tiny room. Get to Raylan, that was his only thought.
"Raylan… Boyd…" He thumped hard on the door. "It's me."
"Who's me… don't know any me." Came the sarcastic reply.
"Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson," Tim barked, "don't make me come in there and hurt you."
There was a clanging and banging as Boyd forced the filing cabinets away from the door. Tim was through it before the gap was more than six inches. On his knees beside his friend… colleague… lover? Boyd thought it, but it seemed best not to say it. Raylan was injured, but Raylan had a temper and if he thought that Boyd was messing with him, the consequences to Boyd might just be unpleasant.
Raylan's headache was just about under control, providing he didn't have to open his eyes. Tim's gentle hands on his head, and the soft encouragement of his voice told Raylan that he was going to have to do it. Cautiously he pried open an eyelid. Tim was a little less blurry than Boyd had been, however long ago, but the throbbing in his head told Raylan that the root cause of the problem had not gone away. As much as he hated giving in to injury, he was going to need some time out on this.
"Can you stand?" Tim's anxiety at Raylan's state was increasing, but he held himself together.
"Yes." As long as someone was helping hold him up, Raylan figured that he would be able to put one foot in front of the other.
Keeping his eyes closed, Raylan stumbled awkwardly to his feet, and would have taken a faceplant, if Tim and Boyd hadn't grabbed him. Tim yanked Raylan up close, and slung Raylan's arm over his shoulder, putting his left arm around Raylan's waist. Leaving free access to his gun. Boyd grabbed Raylan's other side and they were headed towards the door.
"Going somewhere boys?"
