Events took a real turn towards the melodramatic in the days following Jo and Rachel's bar night. First, there was the psychic former widow of Drew Thompson, Eve Munro. Jo figured she must have said something mystical to Tim during the course of their investigation because he'd been acting slightly left of center ever since the chance encounter. She inquired once out of a sense of obligation, but after being immediately rebuffed, Jo dropped the subject entirely. She figured he'd share in his own time. There was no point in trying to force his hand, lest she be returned in kind at a later junction.
Then, Raylan's casual hookup, Lindsey, stole away with his secret hoard of cash and her ex-husband in tow. Rachel had clued her in on the salacious details, having been party to that particular wild goose chase. Perhaps rooster chase would have been a more apt description for those shenanigans. Jo mocked Raylan mercilessly for being taken so easily, adding insult to considerable physical injury. Had his time spent with Arlo Givens not provided enough insight into the internal workings of petty criminals? Plus, that pseudo baby voice his bleach blonde companion had exhibited should have been tell enough.
Speaking of Arlo Givens, Jo received a courtesy call from Art one morning, informing her that David Vasquez would be offering a deal to the elder convict. If he divulged the identity of Drew Thompson, then he'd be granted an early release from prison. Obviously, the notion didn't sit well with Raylan, who traipsed off to Harlan County, with the intent of finding their mysterious fugitive in an attempt to squander his daddy's deal. This quest led him to Josiah Cairn who pointed him in the direction of the hill people. Raylan had been foolish enough to trust the word of that nefarious parole but had escaped the confrontation relatively unscathed, and with enough valuable information to spur their search forward. Josiah hadn't fared as favorably, losing a foot for his meddling efforts.
The entire holler seemed entangled in the hunt for Drew Thompson. It was all very theatrical and, Jo felt, a bit excessive, but she found their fruitless endeavors entertaining nonetheless.
One evening, Jo arrived home to find Tim already there. He'd quickly taken full advantage of having unfettered access to her place, as was evident from his reclined position on her couch, casually sipping a beer in hand. She shot him an amused smile before heading into the bedroom to change out of her work attire.
Tim didn't trail after her, but his raised voice followed her into the next room. "My buddy Mark called to meet up. You wanna tag along?"
"You have buddies?" Jo called in feigned shock, trading her slacks for a more comfortable pair of shorts. Her answer came as she undid the buttons on her silk blouse. "We served together in Iraq." Well, now she just felt guilty for preemptively mocking his ability to make friends.
Throwing a loose T-shirt over her head, Jo strolled back into the living room and plopped down on the couch beside him. Her hand instinctively resting on his clothed leg. When they were alone, she had trouble keeping her extremities to herself, though she made no effort to resist the urge. "Do you want me to meet your friend?" She asked carefully, with eyebrows raised.
"Sure, why not?" Tim replied shortly, finishing off the remnants of his beer. Placing the empty bottle on the end table, he stood and presented Jo a hand. Slipping her fingers across his rough palm, she allowed him to pull her from the sofa cushions.
Jo was relatively familiar with the VA, having chauffeured Arlo to similar establishments a time or two. Tim ushered her through the entrance with a gentle hand resting against her lower back. The contact made her skin tingle, even through the thin material of her shirt.
They turned the corner as a brunette man of similar age exited another set of double doors, striding towards them. He had dopey eyes, but his smile appeared good-natured. "I'm so sorry, man. The meeting went long," he threw a pointed thumb over his shoulder to indicate the room he'd just vacated.
Jo stood by, watching passively while the two men embraced. "Glad you're still going to meetings," Tim expelled with an air of relief, patting his companion firmly on the back.
Pulling away, Mark peered at Jo in confusion. "This your girl?" He asked, eyes bouncing between the unknown woman and his former comrade-in-arms.
Tim grinned at the question but made no move to correct his friend's assumption. "Mark, this is Jo. Jo, meet my buddy, Mark," he provided introductions for the two. Despite this being their first official meeting, it was clear that at least one proceeding conversation had revolved around discussing their respective relationships. They were strangers, but not entirely unfamiliar.
Jo and Mark politely shook hands in greeting, before Tim drew attention by asking, "how's your leg?"
Mark scrunched up his right pant leg, revealing a long pink scar running the length of his calf. The wound was closed but remained raw and prominent against the pale skin. "Well, doc says I need one more surgery. Pins pinch like hell. Tramadol helps some, but I gotta tell you, much as Oxy screwed up my life, it sure knocked out the pain," he confessed while rolling his jeans back down around his ankle.
Ah, so Mark had fallen victim to the Hillbilly Heroin. That shit was a plague amongst men, particularly prominent in the state of Kentucky. Didn't help that being a veteran increased his risk for chemical dependency. Jo's musings were interrupted by Tim, suggesting, "you try acupuncture?"
Mark blinked several times, grinning wide when he questioned, "that needle bullshit?"
"You remember Chewy, that CSAR Helo pilot pulled us out of Sangin, karaoke badass? Said it helped him with his back." The realization that this was the most she'd ever heard Tim talk about his time in the Rangers, was a crushing one. She'd always figured it was too traumatizing a topic to discuss, so Jo had intentionally avoided the subject. Although, without the knowledge, she hardly knew the person standing beside her.
Mark shrugged at the observation, and ribbed, "maybe help you with your menstrual cramps, then."
Tim's countenance was blank, and his tone flat when he shot back, "nah, those went away once I got on birth control."
The second the joke fell from Tim's lips, both men turned towards Jo, gauging her expression, seeing if she'd taken offense to their mocking of female struggles. Smirking, she commented, "saves me the trouble of pulling out too," which evoked a round of hearty laughter from the two males.
When their chortles died down, Mark's face became serious. "I...I appreciate you coming," he began wearily. Tim gave her a slight nod, and she let him lead Mark away so they could discuss his troubles privately. Not that he wouldn't inform her of their conversation later. Jo wasted time reading a nearby bulletin board, not that anything posted provided much interest. This was a world she'd walked amongst, but didn't belong in.
Tim returned to her side some minutes later, absent of Mark this time. His arm naturally slipping around her waist while he leaned in and whispered, "I've gotta go help Mark out at his dealer's place. You're going to wait in the car."
Jo audibly tsked at his command and argued, "I think I've got more experience with dealers than you." Tim's head immediately cocked back at her statement, appearing baffled. "Not like that," she assured him with a roll of the eyes. "Besides, you two are less likely to get shot with a pretty girl in attendance."
"Jo. No," he said with a vigorous shake of the head, his stare hard and his timbre warning.
"Tim. Yes," she countered, her tone clipped, leaving no room for further discussion. She'd always been stubborn; he had only himself to blame for allowing her to come along.
A short time later, the trio found themselves outside Mark's dealer's apartment. Tim spent the entire ride silently brooding over Jo's insistence that she join them inside. His intentions to protect her were honorable, but Jo had found herself in far worse predicaments with far worse people, and she'd always managed. His incessant worrying was for not.
Mark knocked, and the door opened to reveal a short man with stringy shoulder-length hair. His pointed features resembled that of a rat. "You got balls of steel, showing up like this," he commented to Mark shortly.
"I'm just here to resolve our issue," Mark promised with hands raised in surrender.
"Who're they?" The noticeably agitated man asked, head inclining towards Mark's company.
"We're just friends. You want to let us in, or you wanna discuss drug deals out here on your porch?" Tim announced. His stance firm and his body intentionally blocking most of Jo from the drug dealer's sight.
The man's eyes shifted between the three until he eventually stepped aside and opened the door wider to allow them entry. Mark's mouth hung open, perhaps in shock of Tim's casual demeanor, and possibly in fear for the situation they were willingly walking into.
From down the hall came another man, he hopped in his steps while trying to lift his pants back into place simultaneously. His shirt held crumpled against his chest. The dealer shouted at him to leave quickly.
They'd stumbled into some real shady shit, if the perturbed look on Tim's face was anything to go by. Jo kept her features impassive while evaluating their surroundings.
Once they hit the open living space, Mark began stripping. He got down to his tighty whities with alarming speed. Tim bit out an affronted, "dude," at the view of his friend scantily clad.
"Everyone strips comes in here," the short man instructed, getting in Tim's face. "Only way I can be sure you ain't wearing a wire. Oh, and that I'm the only one packing."
Mark apologized profusely while offering an awkward chuckle. Tim looked thoroughly unimpressed with the whole display, scoffing at the dealer's exhibit of control.
"You and your lady both take them off, or we're gonna have a major problem on our hands," he warned, lifting his shirt to reveal a pistol tucked into his waistband.
Tim sounded bored as he tried to quell the man's growing irritation. "Look, we're not here to score. We're just here to work out Mark's debt."
The dealer huffed at his words, hand lingering on his unveiled weapon. "Debt? That what he told you? Well, last time I saw this piece of shit, he ripped me off. Eight hundred bucks. And a bottle of Oxys."
It appeared his buddy Mark wasn't quite as boyish and charming as his looks implied. "What the hell, man?" Tim asked, exasperated by this new revelation.
Mark's constant grinning was a defense mechanism, Jo realized, watching him smile from ear to ear while trying to talk his way out of the predicament he'd blindly walked them into. "Hey, hey, all right. Everybody just calm down. Okay, last time I was here, I was high, and I took some things that weren't mine, but that's why I'm here now. To make things right."
"Oh, you want to make things right? Well, then you gonna give me double what you stole," the rat-faced man stipulated. They bickered back and forth about Mark's inability to pay for a minute, when the dealer suddenly brandished his gun at the unclothed man. Tim's reflexes were instant, unholstering his own weapon and pointing it at the dealer's temple.
"Good thing I never took my pants off, huh?" Tim proclaimed, his hand holding the firearm steady. "Now, Mark's trying to make things right with you. You need to let him. It's just gonna take you a little longer to settle up than you might've hoped."
The man's neck turned to survey the gun pointed at his head, and his eyes rose to assess Tim's unwavering resolve. "Well, patience might be a virtue, but waiting sucks."
"Well, I agree with that. But getting your money and living is better than getting shot, don't you think?" Tim droned evenly. He hadn't so much as blinked in the face of their precarious situation. "Now, what do you say we lower our guns at the same time as a show of faith?"
A tense beat passed before they slowly dropped their weapons in unison. Jo pushed her way between the three men once the guns were returned to their rightful places. "If you boys are done measuring your dicks," she drawled sarcastically. "I've got twelve hundred. Take it, and we can call this problem resolved," she made her offer to the dealer.
Tim and Mark swiftly perked up to argue, but she silenced their cautions with a wave of the hand. "You said yourself, waiting sucks," she reasoned to the man before her.
"I also said double," the dealer countered, hands cocked on each hip to convey his annoyance.
Jo tittered at the suggestion. "You'll take twelve hundred because you can have it now, and be clear of this mess." The challenge behind her squinted eyes was undeniable.
The dealer released a hard exhale, and begrudgingly agreed to her terms. Jo extracted a tightly wrapped roll from her purse and handed it over. The greasy man snatched the wad of money from her hand in a manner that could only be described as ungrateful.
"Pleasure doing business with you," Jo snipped, and the trio made for the door.
Mark thanked her nearly a thousand times on the walk back to the car. Each time, she assured him that it was no problem, but, regardless, he pulled her in for a tight bear hug prior to climbing into his own vehicle.
"You didn't need to do that," Tim finally interrupted their silent drive back to her place.
"You're right, I didn't," Jo agreed, gazing out the passenger window. "But, now Mark's clear of his debts. It's up to him to decide what to do with his clean slate."
Tim's hand slid across the center console and grasped hers from where it lay limply in her lap. Jo's eyes shifted away from the scenery, to watch his thumb idly trace patterns across her knuckles. "Well, I appreciate it all the same. Twelve hundred is a lot of money."
She laughed at the assertion. "Money doesn't matter much to me. Besides, attorneys make bank, I'll have you know," Jo teased and squeezed Tim's hand a measure harder with her own. "You've taken care of mine. I don't have a problem taking care of yours," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper.
Quiet filled the cab as the miles passed. "Did you ever get into drugs?" Tim questioned, eventually. He knew her mother had been a junkie, and her earlier statement about being familiar with drug dealers had him wondering.
"No, I always knew better than to go that route," Jo admitted. "I figured I'd enjoy the escape too much, and then I'd be done for. Booze is the only vice I ever bothered taking to. You?"
Tim shook his head to indicate the contrary. "I saw enough soldiers in the Rangers, and after, lose themselves. Turned me off the hard stuff permanently." She watched his profile, saw the tinge of sorrow overtake his features while he got lost in unpleasant memories. Life wasn't fair. You sacrifice yourself to the service of others, and all you're left with are the demons that haunt you.
"Well, at least we'll always have whiskey," she mused in consolation as they pulled into the drive.