It was too fucking early, Tim decided. When his cell had gone off at 4 AM, Tim had resolutely ignored it.

At least, he had the first time. But then whoever it was called him again. And again. And then he finally relented on the fourth try.

"What in the hell could possibly be so goddamn important right now?"

"Geller got jumped. We need you in the office."

Art had sounded equally disgruntled, and when Tim arrived at the courthouse, he found Art, Reed, and… Fuck… Raylan crowded around Reed's laptop in the conference room. When they noticed Tim's arrival, the smile on Raylan's face made Tim wish he'd chucked the phone into the garbage disposal instead of answering it.

"It is too fucking early for this bullshit, Chief, excuse my language," Tim said as he swung the large glass door open. "Or don't, I don't care. Why am I here?"

Art failed to suppress his amusement at Tim's sullen tone, "Raylan is transporting Ms. Geller from lockup, and he requested you as his backup."

He definitely should have thrown the phone in the disposal. Or a blender. Or maybe he should have run it over and then flushed it.

The laptop the three men were crowded over was showing a security feed from the prison where Kathryn had been sent two days prior. Despite Tim's insistence that she should be placed in protective custody because she was both an accused cop killer and an informant, Vasquez had purposefully delayed the paperwork, hoping a few days in the county lockup would loosen her tongue.

Apparently, all it had done was nearly get her killed.

The picture was grainy, but he could see Kathryn standing at a sink, brushing her teeth, as two fellow inmates crept up behind her. Tim clenched his jaw, but kept the rest of his body resolutely disinterested.

"They don't have mirrors, so she couldn't see them coming," Reed said.

Tim watched as one of the women pulled a shiv from the lining of her jumpsuit. Kathryn must have heard them approaching, finally, because she turned around just in time to block the woman's attempt to slice across her kidneys.

Kathryn spat out her toothbrush and brought her right elbow up into the woman's face, moments before the second assailant managed to grab her arm. As the first woman rounded on her with the makeshift weapon once again, Kathryn used her left leg to kick her in the solar plexus, sending her stumbling back beyond the camera's view.

Kathryn then spun around, bringing her left elbow up to connect with the jaw of the woman restraining her right arm. When the woman loosened her grip, Kathryn brought both hands to the back of her head and slammed the woman's face against her knee before letting her drop, useless and unconscious, to the floor.

Kathryn turned quickly, but she wasn't quite fast enough to totally dodge the next attack and the woman's improvised knife managed to slice into Kathryn's upper back and shoulder as she spun around. Even in black and white, Tim could see the blood blossoming in a dark splash across her uniform.

The two women circled one another for a moment, both poised for attack. Kathryn successfully dodged a few experimental swings, but she made no move to retaliate. Tim could see her wince when she sidestepped, and he wondered how deep the cut on her back was. For a moment, he was sure he was about to watch her die. Art must have meant they were transporting her corpse.

But when Kathryn's adversary took an ill-timed swipe, Kathryn used the opportunity to trap the woman's arm with her own. She twisted the woman's shoulder, bending her over in an armbar.

When Kathryn swung her left fist down against the woman's elbow, Tim swore he could hear the bones snap as the shiv when spiraling across the bathroom floor. The relief Tim felt only lasted a moment as the woman threw her head backward and smashed her skull into Kathryn's nose, sending her flying back into the sink before she ran at her again, using her unbroken arm to punch Kathryn in the stomach.

Kathryn's arms flew up to the woman's shoulders, and the two grappled with one another until they ended up on the floor, twisting madly in an attempt to gain an advantage over one another.

Finally, Kathryn ended up on her back, her legs wrapped around the other woman's hips to hold her in place, and her strong arms locked tightly around her throat.

Tim winced as the woman flailed against Kathryn's grip, clawing desperately at her forearms in an attempt to breathe. He knew how hard it was to strangle another person to death, and he did not envy Kathryn her position.

It felt like an agonizingly long time before the woman's movements finally slowed, and then ceased forever.

Kathryn rolled the woman's body off herself, breathing heavily and looking toward the other inmate, who still hadn't moved.

She only had a moment's respite before a trio of prison guards finally made it into the room. Kathryn, still lying prone on the floor, lifted her arms over her head, palms open in surrender.

But that didn't stop the guards from delivering a hell of a beating. It didn't matter that Kathryn had been jumped; she'd still killed a cop, and the thrashing she received from the LEOs rivaled—and maybe even surpassed—the one she'd received from the two women.

Finally, they heaved Kathryn to her feet and dragged her out of the bathroom, ostensibly to the infirmary for treatment, but likely to solitary where she would be left to lick her wounds and suffer in isolation.

Reed snapped the laptop shut.

"The woman with the shiv was Cynthia Dobrev. She's dead, and her associate is still unconscious in the infirmary. They both have close ties to the Russians who Ms. Geller killed in Daniel Boone."

"Allegedly killed," Art corrected him, but Reed ignored the adjustment.

"Vasquez got the paperwork through to get Geller to one of our safe houses for now, and we'd like to move her as soon as possible."

"Why all the urgency?" Tim asked. While he knew why he wanted Kathryn out of there, it seemed strange that anyone else gave two shits about what happened to Sarah Geller behind bars.

Reed's eyes caught Tim's and held them, "Vincent Dawson was seen on security footage leaving a hospital late last night. Right after Chad Anderson was found dead in his room."

Tim suddenly felt completely and totally awake.

"It looks like the Russians are cleaning house, and this might be our chance to draw Dawson out by using Geller as an incentive."

"You mean bait," Tim said, and he could barely contain the snarl in his words.

Reed shrugged. "Whatever you want to call it, we need her to get close to him."

Raylan tugged his hat low over his eyes. "Well Tim, you heard the man, let's go get your girl."

#

Raylan had been mercifully silent on the drive to the prison. Though Tim was irritated by the entire situation, he could at least be grateful that the elder Deputy appeared nearly as tired as he felt himself. Raylan's lethargy was surely all that had saved Tim from interrogation as he drove.

When they walked into the prison, Tim found it quieter than he'd ever seen it. He supposed 5 AM was pretty early, even for a place that ran 24/7. While Raylan filled out the transport paperwork, Tim was tasked with checking out their prisoner.

As she was escorted down the hallway toward him, he could see how badly she was injured. She was favoring her right side something fierce, and her shoulders dipped low to the right like she was trying not to open the wound on her back as she walked.

When she placed her feet on the floor markers, Tim leaned close and gave her a perfunctory pat-down. "Anything I need to know?"

He indicated for her to turn, and when she did, their noses almost brushed because he was still half-bent over. "No," she said, and he hated the way she purposefully avoided his gaze.

Her lip was split, and he was fairly sure her nose was broken, though it was difficult to tell with all the swelling.

Suddenly, the bruise he'd left on her cheek seemed inconsequential, though it still left an empty feeling in his gut when he thought about it.

"If you want to do a cavity search, I'm sure the guards could get you two a private room," Raylan teased and it required every ounce of Tim's training and restraint not to punch him right in the fucking mouth.

"No need, Deputy. If you want a show, I'm happy to strip down right here," Kathryn said, again changing her voice to favor Raylan's Harlan-heavy accent.

Tim grasped Kathryn gently by the elbow, but when she didn't move, he was forced to yank at her, which caused her to hiss and grimace. Why the fuck was she making this so difficult?

"I can see why you like her," Raylan said suggestively as he stepped aside so Tim could walk her out the front doors. He didn't like turning his back on his most irritating co-worker; he had a feeling the thin line he'd been walking was about to come to an excruciating end.

And Raylan was just the sort of man to push him off it.

#

The silence Tim had been so grateful for on the ride to pickup Kathryn was gone. Raylan had turned himself half in his seat, so he could look at both Tim and Kathryn, who was sitting primly in the center of the backseat.

Tim kept making accidental eye contact with her when he checked the rearview, and he wished she would slide over so he could ignore her presence completely.

"So, Ms. Geller, it looks like you didn't play very nice with the other kids."

Kathryn didn't say anything at first, and Tim's grip on the steering wheel tightened a fraction because he could tell from the playful lilt in Raylan's voice that nothing good was going to come of whatever line of questioning he was about to pursue.

"I was never very good at making friends," she said, finally, and her voice still had that lazy tilt in it that reminded Tim of moonshine.

"Well, you've got at least one friend, don't you? Tim here seems pretty fond of you."

Tim trained his eyes straight ahead, refusing to be baited.

"Oh, Deputy, if you want, I could be your friend, too."

Deputy Givens, Tim thought, his name is Deputy Raylan Givens. It felt wrong, somehow, hearing her call another Marshal by just the title.

"Nah, I don't need anymore friends, I have plenty." Raylan's smirk was palpable, even without looking at him.

"I find that hard to believe," Tim said.

"Tim, I'm hurt. You know how sensitive I can be about my interpersonal relationships."

Tim almost laughed because the absurdity of the situation at hand was too much to bear. He was rewarded for his quip with a few moments of blissful silence, and he considered turning on the radio to deter any further conversation, but his fingers weren't quick enough and soon Raylan was back to asking questions.

"How do you feel about Tim, Ms. Geller?"

Tim couldn't help it; his eyes met hers in the mirror before he could stop himself, and he knew that Raylan had noticed the movement.

"I don't feel any particular way about Deputy Gutterson," she said. Tim didn't want to admit that her words had any effect on him, so he explained the tightness in his chest away as a byproduct of too little sleep and no breakfast.

"Oh come on now, you worked with him before, you must have formulated some impression of the man."

Raylan's tone was light as air, but when Tim stole a glance at the older man, he could see his eyes were level and serious, watching Kathryn carefully for the slightest reaction.

"He seems moderately competent in his capacity as a Deputy U.S. Marshal," she said, finally, and Raylan let out a laugh that almost made Tim jump, it was so forcefully unwarranted.

"Aw, Tim, I don't think your girlfriend likes you much."

"Good thing I prefer being single, I guess," Tim said, as he threw on his blinker and turned off the main road. They were about fifteen minutes away from the safehouse Kathryn had been assigned to for the time being, and Tim was cautiously scanning the roads for anything that looked out of place.

Thus far, nothing had caught his eye, and he found himself relieved that perhaps—just this once—something about this case would go smoothly.

#

The house was a shitty little ranch the Marshals service had acquired during a seizure several years prior. It had been repainted, de-loused, and scrubbed of bodily fluids, and now it was used to house fugitives who required protective custody before their arraignments.

It was a layover; a temporary place to wait for further instructions or a better option.

Raylan went in first, checking the house for any unwanted visitors, and when he motioned for Tim that it was all clear, he heaved Kathryn out of the backseat and escorted her inside.

The house was cramped and the damp smell it emitted seemed to permeate their own clothes the moment they walked in.

"I'm not sure I like this any better than the prison," Kathryn said, and Tim plunked her down into a kitchen chair. Her wrists and ankles were still cuffed, and he wondered whether he could feasibly keep them on her forever.

"Well, at least there's a bathroom because you smell pretty ripe," Tim said.

Raylan leaned toward Kathryn conspiratorily, "I didn't want to say nothin' in the car, but he's not wrong."

"Blood and pus and no shower privileges will do that," Kathryn said without looking at either of them.

Raylan lifted his eyes to Tim, and the younger man did not appreciate the impish glint he saw in them.

"What?"

"I was just thinkin' maybe you could take Ms. Geller to the shower. She'll need to be monitored, you know, and since you two are already so close…"

"We aren't close, Raylan," Tim said, even as he motioned for Kathryn to stand, "and I'd appreciate it if you stopped including me in whatever strange fantasies you seem to have about women involved in open cases."

Tim knew the barb was lame, but he didn't have the energy for anything more. Raylan tossed Tim a set of small keys, which he caught easily with his left hand.

Raylan watched Kathryn and Tim carefully as the Marshal directed their prisoner toward the bathroom at the back of the house. He called after them, "I'm gonna call Reed and see when we should expect him! I'll just be on the porch, so try not to be too loud!"

Tim rolled his eyes, desperately wishing to be anywhere but exactly where he was. He needed a Ford Prefect in his life; someone to whisk him immediately to another galaxy because he was far too tired for this shit.