AN: This is the next to last chapter. One more and then I will be giving you an epilogue. I will be sorry to see this story end. And, SpadesJade, I actually did mean to have more of Eschel but my brain refused to tell me what to say so I compromised. Thank you JustWhelmed for being awesome.

Disclaimer: I only own Becky.

The first thing of which Becky became aware was a steady, irritating beeping. She could smell antiseptic. There was a heavy feeling in her limbs and her mind, even her eyelids felt weighted down. She finally managed to open them and the first thing she saw was a very familiar hat, resting on a plastic nightstand.

She cast her eyes down the line of her body; down the hospital sheets, to the hand resting lightly on her thigh. It was connected to the man currently sleeping in the awkward position of head on the bed and ass in plastic seat.

He had dark circles under his eyes and a couple of days' worth of slightly gray scruff. He should have looked awful. He didn't. It really wasn't fair, Becky mused, for someone to be so good looking all of the time. Shouldn't he at least drool like normal people? Becky knew that she drooled and she was even less normal than Raylan. She had a moment to look up at her IV drip and wonder what they gave her before the door opened.

"You're awake," Rachel said with a smile. "How do you feel?"

"I don't like it," she answered. "I don't know how I got here or how long ago. I should be able to tell that." Her tongue was heavy in her mouth and difficult to work. She didn't like that either.

"I can tell you that." Rachel smiled, looking so happy to be giving Becky information that Becky thought that her body hadn't been lying to her when she thought she was dying. "Apparently, you passed out from the blood loss and Raylan called 911." They both looked at the sleeping man. "That was two days ago. This is the first sleep he's had since."

"He's in a new shirt," Becky realized, wondering why it took her so long. "Didn't he leave when the doctors said I would pull through?"

Rachel snorted. "No. I had to bring him a change of clothes. He refused to leave until you woke up." Becky found that touching, but before she could comment, Rachel was looking at her with very serious eyes. "He's a good friend of mine, Becky, and I thank you. That was a very brave thing you were willing to do for him."

Becky found the tears that sprang into her eyes ridiculous and she decided to disconnect her IV before she could turn into any more of a sniveling mess. She shifted slightly it an attempt to better reach the tube, and that seemed to be enough to wake Raylan.

He looked up and saw her reaching for the needle. "Woah, woah, hold up," he said instantly, on his feet even. "What are you doing?"

"Don't like these drugs," Becky said. "They interfere with my brain."

"Then we'll call the nurse," he replied, holding onto her hands. "Don't rip out the medically placed needles." He moved one hand to her cheek and suddenly Rachel had gone from watching a slightly humorous moment to watching an intently private one.

"I'll go get Art and Dr. Warren," she said, quietly leaving the room, knowing they wouldn't notice.

They didn't.

"You look good," he said, tracing the still healing split in her lip and the yellowing bruise on her jaw.

She snorted. "I look like death warmed over."

"You look alive," he corrected, kissing her forehead, then pulling back to look her in the eye. "Don't you ever do anything like that again or I will kill you myself."

She smiled. "Wouldn't that be counterproductive?" She grew serious again and her hand squeezed his lightly. "I lead a dangerous life, Raylan. Just like you. I won't ask you to stop being a Marshal and you can't ask me to stop taking risks. This is my job."

Raylan nodded, wanting to pull her close but afraid to. "I know. But, god, Becky, just, promise me that you won't ever put yourself in that sort of position again. That wasn't taking risks. That was attempting suicide." He kissed her palm. "I thought I was gonna have to bury you."

"I thought you weren't going to have a body to bury," she said honestly, cupping her fingers around his jaw. "I don't want to leave you, Raylan. I thought I had to."

Art knocked on the door just then, breaking the trance. He didn't wait for an invitation, just walked on in followed by the doctor.

The doctor was a nice looking, older man, with more lines and fewer grays than Raylan. He had one of those warm smiles that were only found in the medical field. "Well, young lady, I am glad to see you alert. How are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy," she complained. "I don't like it. I want off of the pain medication."

"I'd advise against that," Dr. Warren warned. "You've sustained several traumatic injuries. It may not seem like it now, but if I remove the morphine drip, you will feel each and every one."

"I know what injuries I received," she said stubbornly. "I was there when I received them. However, I am completely unable to control my thought process and it is driving me into the loony bin. Turn off the drip."

The doctor nodded. "I am still advising against it. However, it's your legal right, so give me a minute and I'll unhook the bag." He checked her vitals and asked a few basic health questions, then did as she requested.

It was only a few minutes before the group saw her mouth tighten and her eyes clear. "Thank you, Doctor," she said before turning her head towards Art in a dismissal. "What are your questions?"

"Not the most stunning deduction you've favored us with," Art chuckled. "First, what the hell were you thinking?"

"That's hardly a professional tone," she teased.

Art was in no mood for that. "That's because it wasn't an official question! You nearly got yourself killed! And you put our investigation at risk!"

"No I didn't," she said quietly. "I strengthened it. I left forensic evidence along the way and I left you directions in Raylan's note."

"Yes, I heard about that. You told us to use the wife. That's not exactly specific or even all that helpful, thanks," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. In truth, he was angry for two reasons. One, she had put his case at risk. Two, he hated seeing her in that hospital bed. Becky, whom he had actually gotten very fond of, was the kind of person, energetic and brilliant like no one he'd ever met, that made others see them as immortal. He did not appreciate this proof that she was not.

"What would you have done if Raylan had actually acted in a sane manner and gone to you for backup?" Becky asked, shooting Raylan a look of affection mixed with frustration.

Art crossed his arms and thought about it. "Honestly, I would have hoped to find you living, but assumed that you weren't. Not very nice of me, I know."

Becky shrugged and winced. "Nice is boring and unproductive."

"Right. Well..." That sort of attitude was somewhat unsettling. At least her feelings weren't hurt. "We would have staked out the house, probably gotten Tim to do it, and waited until an opportune moment, probably creating one if too much time passed. Then I would have sent Raylan and Rachel to talk to Mrs. Bennet."

"She would have immediately helped you," Becky assured him. "It was a crude plan with many variables, but it would have worked."

"You can't possible have known that's what I would do," Art protested. "Or that Helen Bennet would have helped. That was just a hunch. You didn't know that."

Becky just smiled.

Art threw his hands up in the air in disgust. "I give up on you and your predictions and your theories and all of it. Between you and Raylan, I am going to keel over from a heart attack before I'm an old man!"

"Little late for that," Raylan chimed in.

Art just glared at him. "Give me a report," he said, pulling a tape recorder from his pocket, clearly exasperated. "From the time that you and Raylan called Boyd, until he found you in the Bennet's basement."

She nodded. "When we hung up with Boyd, Raylan went in to take a shower."

"Do you want to know what I did in there?" Raylan asked with a smile, a little too tired to watch his mouth.

"Stop being a smartass and let the lady tell her story," Art practically growled.

Becky gave a small smile and continued. It was a long interview. She told them about the second conversation she had with Boyd while Raylan thought she was only ordering pizza. She talked about writing the note and sneaking out to join Boyd in his truck. (She neglected to mention what she and Raylan did between those two sets of events).

"He drove me up to Larkin's front porch, taking a break to tie my hands together. He held a gun to my head and asked to be let back into the trade, said that he'd wasted the Black Pike money on online poker. He claimed to have brought me as a sign of good faith."

"And Larkin believed him?" Art asked skeptically.

"He acted it well," Becky said, pointing to the bruise on her jaw.

Raylan made a low sound deep in his throat that she ignored. "Larkin wanted to just take me himself, but Boyd demanded to speak with Eschel, said he was afraid that she would muscle her way in on his deal. He claimed that you lot were waiting on a phone call and that if he didn't make it you would all come straight there."

"Smart," Art admitted grudgingly.

"I know," Becky said matter-of-factly. "I thought of it. When Eschel got there, she and Larkin disappeared for a few moments, to talk terms I believe. Eschel vowed, upon return, to abide by Larkin's deal and then she took me into the basement..." She trailed off and looked at them from under her lashes, biting her lip slightly. "Do I really have to go into details there?"

"No," Art said softly. "We read the doctor's report."

Raylan closed his eyes, trying to both remember and forget at the same time; three cracked ribs, multiple contusions all over her body and several lacerations on her abdomen made with a thin, jagged blade.

"After that, I suppose that I passed out." She said it like she was admitting a weakness. "Because suddenly Raylan was there." They shared a look that did not go unnoticed by Art, but he already figured out that they were screwing so he didn't concern himself with it.

He did, however, concern himself with the way that the lines of pain and exhaustion were deepening on her face. "Almost done, Becky," he said kindly. "I just need you to tell me what happened from the time that Raylan left you until you shot Eschel's henchman."

She did, as quickly as possible. Her entire body relaxed somewhat when she was done.

"Good job, Becky," Raylan said, stroking her hand softly. "Try to get some sleep, okay." He removed his hand, only to have her grab it.

"Stay with me?" She sounded like a hurt, scared, little girl. It was probably the most vulnerable she had ever looked in her entire life.

"I gotta go with Art now, Becky," he said softly, pulling his hand away a little. "But I will be right back, I promise."

The two men stepped just outside the room door. "What are we gonna do about Yavneh?" Raylan asked.

Art ran his hand over his scalp. "Alert everybody I guess. There's not much else we can do. This guy, Becky's the only one who's got a chance and she's kinda out of commission right now."

"Yeah, she is," Raylan agreed, glancing through the door at her.

"Look, Raylan, are you ever going to start listening to me?" Art was tired. He wanted was to go home and kiss his wife and argue over what to get his grand-daughter for her birthday. He wanted Raylan to have the same thing one day, but the man had the relationship sense of a randy horse.

"What are you talking about?" Raylan asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't give me that. I know you're sleeping together. I know that you both feel more than that. Have you actually talked about it?"

"Plannin' on it," Raylan answered.

"Good." He patted Raylan's shoulder. "Don't screw this one up. This is the best thing you are ever gonna get."

"I'm gonna do my best."

"Your best sucks usually. Do someone else's best." With that cheerful note, Art took his leave.

Raylan took a deep breath and re-entered her room.

"I'm not asleep yet," she said at the sound of the door. "Art knows about us. Even an idiot would."

"He told me not to screw it up." He sat at the edge of her bed and ran his hands over his eyes.

"Sound advice." She opened her eyes and fixed him with that almost supernaturally intense gaze. "That is, if you want to pursue this."

"I just stormed the castle for you... What did you think that meant?"

"Pride, duty, obligation, masochism, the list goes on." She smiled. "You're something of a mystery to me, Raylan. It's one reason why I like you."

"I love you," he said honestly. "I won't say it often. I'll be faithful and moody and I have a temper, but I won't hurt you. I'm not good at soft."

"Neither am I," she assured him. "I'm often sulky and temperamental and my social graces are almost non-existent."

"Really?" He smiled when she smacked him weakly. "But I'll be faithful for as long as we're together."

"How long were you thinking that might be?"

"A lifetime if you'll have me."

She closed her eyes and grinned. "That might be the smartest idea you've ever had."

"I can agree with that." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I meant what I said earlier, about you getting some sleep."

"Sleep with me?" She asked.

He laughed, toed of his boots, and lay on his side next to her on the surprisingly wide bed. "That may be the smartest idea you've ever had."

"Not likely."

"Shut up and go to sleep."