A/N: I own neither XE, Blackwater, COPS, Tim Gutterson, or Justified. I do own the South family, Bobby Rushdie, and Charlie. Sorry it's taken me so long. (winces)
0oooooooo000000000ooooo0000
"This is pitiful," Tim stated.
Charlie cracked open one amber eye, but did not move from where he'd notched his head on Gutterson's right arm pit. On this Saturday night, he found himself wedged good and tight between his dog and the back of his couch. Watching COPS, of all things, and wasn't that just somethin'?
The phone rang. He reached out and snagged it off of the floor, leaning over Charlie. The dog opened both eyes this time, disgruntled. Tim ignored him.
"Hello."
"Hell man, what're you doin' home on a Saturday night?"
Gutterson laughed. "Might ask you the same question, Bobby Rushdie."
"How do you know I'm at home? How do you know I'm not outside some hot club with an arm around a blonde and a brunette waitin' in the car?"
"Cause you ain't the type, sir."
"Th'hell I'm not!"
"And I just heard you open the microwave."
There was a pause. Rushdie slammed the door to the microwave closed. "Dammit."
"You know, for a pair of badass eligible bachelors, we don't have the best of initiative, do we?
Rushdie laughed.
They'd started this whole calling back and forth ever since Bobby had pulled the multiplying act. The lieutenant was up to speed on Evangeline South and her nephew, and at this point in the game, Tim was fairly certain that Rushdie knew more than he did.
Tim heard Bobby flop down on a couch with his bag of popcorn and they ran commentary on COPS for two episodes before either one of them realized it was coming close on one in the morning.
"I'm gonna rack out here in a few, man."
"I am not inclined to move, I don't think. And even if I was, I do not believe Charlie would let me."
Rushdie snickered. "Not the first time you been made to sleep on the couch."
"Talk to you later then, man."
"Yup. Oh hey!"
"Hey what?"
"I saw Music's twin last week."
Tim turned the TV off and sat up kinda slow. "Yeah?"
"She looks good."
"Good."
Rushdie held his breath for a beat. "Aren't you gonna ask anything?"
"Ought I be?"
"Well she asked about you. Wanted to know if I knew how you was doin'."
"Oh."
"She's working for Mr. Prince, Tim."
"Oh wow. Wow. As a translator?"
"As his assistant."
Tim was quiet for a little bit. "That's big. Man, that's big. I don't know what to say to that."
"Me either, man. She's stateside. Mostly Eastern US."
"How's the little boy?"
"Evan?"
"Yeah."
"Thickest glasses I ever saw on a child."
Tim laughed. "Has he still got the dragonfly?"
"Not when I saw him. Quiet little dude."
"He's been through a lot."
"Yeah."
Rushdie already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "You aren't going to sleep tonight, are you?"
Tim sighed. "I have a telescope for a reason, Bobby."
The nosy bastard.
