Okay, I rushed a bit to post this one in time... Happy Mardi Gras, everybody!

Clare was a New Orleans girl. Summer and weekends in the swamps with her brothers and cousins after her dad lost his NOPD gig aside, she was the child of an NOPD cop. The NOPD did one thing well. Their shining honor was crowd control. And police and federals from all over learned crowd control from the NOPD for one reason. Mardi Gras.
Now, Mardi Gras has certain rules. You keep your wallet and your keys in your front pocket to avoid getting picked. You keep your hand over it. And you never, NEVER put your hand on something on the ground, you always put your foot on something on the ground before you pick it up.
Clare pulled herself back enough to slam her foot into his wrist. Over and over and over again. He let go after she saw blood and she aimed and fired.
Over and over and over again.
She stopped after four shots, wondering about another gunman. Clare whispered, "Its fine. I'm ok, just stay there for now," to Brian and Izzie in the crawlspace.
She wiped the blood from her shoe on the carpet as she heaved, more than she thought she should, the chest from the door. She opened the door, her back to the wall next to it, gun at the ready like her daddy taught her and her brothers.
And saw Tim raise his for a millisecond before crushing her to his chest. She leant on him and handed Raylan the gun, saying to the others, "Brian and Izzie are in the crawlspace. Sorry, Rachel, but I'm not finding protective custody terribly effective." To Tim, she said, "Get me out of here."
Tim kept her close to him, and she just about collapsed into him. Art nodded for him to take her downstairs.

Clare was moving her penlight in front of Garcia's eyes, when Art came down with Brian and Izzie. Garcia's head had an ice-pack on it and Clare seemed, if not recovered from killing a man ten minutes before, then at least, in her element.
Tim was watching her, too, arms folded, leaning against the wall. Tense as a live wire. "She's shot someone before, right? When her daddy was killed?"
"Didn't kill him though. It's different… That fucker hit her," Neither Tim's voice nor gaze changed as he pointed out the obvious.
"I don't like my safe house being compromised."
"Secretary said Graham and Brian were on a call when we arrived," Tim said.
"Well, shit." A beat passed. "Take your girl home when this is through. I'll post a car out front."
Tim pursed his lips and nodded.
Garcia walked out with Nelson for Clare's prescribed CT scan, "just to be safe," and Gretchen left the comfort of her family to hug Clare and whisper in her ear.
Clare closed her eyes at whatever Gretchen said and gave a close-mouthed smile. Art let them have their moment before saying, "Mr. Sullivan, did you have a call with your brother today?" Off his confused nod, Art continued grimly, "We're going to need to talk to you. Rachel and Raylan are going to take Mrs. Sullivan and the kids someplace safe. C'mon."

At the office, Clare sat at Tim's desk filling out her statement and holding an ice-pack to her face as Brian sat in horror in the conference room.
Listening to the Marshals Service say that his brother was trying to kill him was bad. Listening to them say the gunmen were at the safe house because Brian had compromised their safety was something else entirely.
Brian looked through the window at Clare at that point. She went into the conference room then. Kept her eyes on her uncle's growing horror. Brian kept looking to Clare as Art riddled off the evidence. "Can I, uh, can I talk to Clare alone for a minute?" he asked, his mouth too dry to form the words correctly.
Art nodded and stood, Tim remaining until Clare tilted her head at him. She caught and squeezed his hand on his way out, not looking away from Brian, but needing some of Tim's strength.

Art watched Clare sit next to her uncle and said to Tim, "She gonna be ok?"
"She's been on the run for three years, Art. I'm doubting there's much she can't handle."
"And how are you handling it?"
Tim swallowed, "I want this bastard. On a fucking spit... Deep fried..." he licked his lips, "I can't be the one to take a shot on this. I need Raylan there. I can't kill him. Not like I want to."
Art eyed him, reading between Tim's lines, not knowing if he should be more concerned about Tim's concern or the risk of Tim thinking he might murder someone, rather than just kill them, if given the opportunity.
"I won't let you go anywhere alone," Art promised.

Brian was near tears when Clare walked out, back stiff and jaw clenched. She went to the coffee maker and stayed there as Nelson came into say Garcia would have a headache for a day or so, but would be fine. Art took Nelson in with him to the conference room. Saying a few words to Brian before sending him out with Deputy Nelson. Art stayed for a few more minutes with Clare's statement, admiring the resourcefulness while wondering how close to her limit she was.
Tim was finishing a report as Art left, he said his good byes with a brief nod to Tim and a, "Take it easy, doc."
After shutting down his computer, Tim went to her, not quietly, not sneaking, and slipped his hands around her waist. "I was really happy this morning."
She snorted, holding his hands to her, "I bet."
"You gonna be ok?" his fingers were feather light over her swollen cheek.
"Eventually. Never killed anyone before."
"It was a good shoot."
She fought back a sob, "I want my dad. I know it's silly, but I want my daddy, Tim."
She lay her forehead on him and took a shuddering breath.
He brushed her hair back with his fingers, "It's not silly, babe. I'm sorry. I should have been there."
She looked up at him and rolled her eyes, "You can't be everywhere. I don't need you to save me. I'm a big girl." She paused, "I just get tired of it sometimes."
He stood there just holding her, until she pulled her head back to look at him and he asked, "You wanna get outta here?"
She nodded. "Desperately."