Tim had to admit, Rodney Dunham was an interesting man. And far less creepy than Robert Quarles, which was definitely a point in his favor. Tim couldn't help liking the grizzled old pot dealer and his gruff exterior a little. Besides, he'd helped them figure out what in the hell Dickie Bennet—idiot savant extraordinaire—was planning, and that was valuable.

Tim was just finishing up his report about the incident at the Bennett general store when Art stuck his head out of his office. "Tim! Come here a sec," and then he was gone, expecting Tim to come bounding close behind.

Tim held in a groan. He wanted to unplug. Wanted to go home, get pleasantly drunk on his couch, and fall asleep listening to the drone of late-night infomercials in order to drown out the chaos of the past few weeks.

It had become a nightly ritual, dreaming in his underwear to the dulcet tones of Tempur-Pedic testimonials and St. Jude's fundraising drives. It was certainly better than crawling into his bed and feeling like he'd sunk into a black hole.

What the hell could Art possibly need now? Tim had been at his desk nearly all damn day finishing up paperwork. He'd barely taken a piss. Couldn't Art have bothered him at any other moment? Fuck, if Art asked him to stay late again, Tim was going to lose his goddamn—

"Tim!"

"Coming, Chief." Resigned, Tim saved his progress and shot a look at Raylan, who was smirking at him from beneath his hat. "Screw you, Raylan."

At least it was satisfying to shut Art's office door on Raylan's whiny, "Oh come on, I didn't even say nothin'!"

Tim found Art leaned back in his chair, smiling, with a bourbon already in hand and one waiting for Tim.

"Uh-oh. Who died?"

"Nobody. Yet."

Tim took his seat and a very conservative taste of the liquor, waiting for Art to elaborate.

He found he was quite glad for the drink because it gave him something to do. Hopefully Art hadn't noticed the way his right knee started to jiggle impatiently or how his shoulders had tensed in anticipation.

All Tim wanted was for Art to shut the hell up so he could throw on his coat and start driving.

#

Tim moved with preternatural speed. Raylan shot him a strange and accusatory glance as he turned off his computer with an angry jab of his finger and mumbled some half-assed "'Night" to everyone or nobody—he honestly didn't care.

The time it took him to drive the fifteen minutes to her house felt like less than a moment.

He had a half-cocked excuse at the ready, but by the time Tim reached Kathryn's lawn, the reasoning he'd concocted melted away and he found he didn't much care.

He was slow walking up to her door. He lingered on the lawn, fiddling with the file in his hands and admiring the bluebells and the marigolds, even as they stood brittle and half-dead, their colors all but faded. Once he knocked, there would be no turning back. Eventually, though, he could defer no longer. He could feel Kathryn watching him from the living room, but he reached up to knock anyway; partially out of politeness but mostly as a force of habit.

Kathryn yanked the door open before he could even bring his knuckles to the surface. "You gonna come in, Deputy, or did you just come here to admire my dead flowers?" she asked.

Tim smirked, shoving his free hand in his pocket and taking his first tentative step up her stairs. "I was just checking out Charlotte over there," Tim nodded his head in the direction of the orb weaver, which was now nestled in the middle of the garden bed, tucked safely away from the hazardous front door.

"Mm, she's a beaut, isn't she?"

Tim didn't think it would be prudent to say he thought she was fucking gross, not to mention creepy, so he made some noncommittal noise low in his throat as he walked inside. When he brushed passed Kathryn into her living room, she was so close that he could smell her shampoo. The pleasant scent didn't last long, however, because his nostrils were soon assaulted by the stringent stench of disinfectant.

The living room reeked of bleach and Tim imagined that an idle, trapped Kathryn must be a danger to every dust mote and grease stain in the house, especially after all the time she'd spent in dingy, disgusting places prior to her return home.

Kathryn closed the door and locked it.

Tim marched to the center of the room and turned with some amount of effort to face his host. He was nervous about seeing her, and he rested his hand leisurely against his holster, despite himself. He hoped she wouldn't notice, or at least that she would understand.

It had been weeks since they'd last looked at each other, and he wasn't entirely sure whether they were still on speaking terms. He was, after all, the reason Delia was gone. He was the reason Kathryn had shot her.

Since his trip to the Louisville FBI office, Tim had not been kept apprised of Delia's situation. He assumed whatever was happening was above his pay grade. Or maybe his clearance level. All he knew was she was still in FBI custody, and he didn't think he'd ever learn more than that. The thought of letting Kathryn down by not being able to give her the answers she craved made his stomach twist painfully.

Kathryn turned toward him and crossed her arms over her chest. Tim couldn't tell whether it was a defensive reflex or one of discomfort. She was barefoot, wearing dark jeans and an Iron Maiden t-shirt with a hole in one shoulder. Seeing her in her own clothes again made Tim feel much more comfortable than the horrible inmate jumpsuit or the hospital gown he'd last seen her in.

"What can I do for you, Deputy Gutterson?"

Pulled from his thoughts, Tim cleared his throat and dropped the folder in his hands onto the coffee table without preamble. He watched as Kathryn's expression changed from one of plastered pleasantness to one of tentative befuddlement.

"Why do you have that?" she asked as she stared at the "PERSONAL" scrawled in her own loose handwriting.

"Took it by accident, thought you might like it back."

Kathryn's posture was rigid and tense. She knew what was in there, and she wanted to know if he'd looked at it; whether he'd figured out her real name and her birthdate and where she was from.

Instead of answering her unspoken questions, Tim's eyes inadvertently flicked to her left ankle, where he could see the little black box of her monitor peeking out under the cuff of her jeans. She tucked her foot behind her other leg self-consciously, trying to hide it.

"Drink?" she asked, and Tim watched as she walked to the coffee table, where he noticed there were already two glasses. He was glad she wasn't going to force him to elaborate; he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to reveal how much he knew about her.

Instead of the file, they both focused on the clear liquor Kathryn tilted into both tumblers from a chilled bottle. The label was turned away from Tim, so he didn't have a clue what she was giving him. Had he really stood so long outside she'd had time to swing by her freezer and her bar in the next room? He'd definitely spent too much time staring at that ugly spider.

Tim took the drink when she offered it to him. "Thanks," he said.

"I don't have any bourbon, I'm afraid."

They each took a long sip in the ensuing silence, neither ready to speak. And then Tim nearly hacked his left lung out onto Kathryn's living room floor.

He didn't appreciate her amused laugh one bit. "Jesus, Kathryn. This is a lovely vintage of Robitussin. What is it? A 2008?"

She was still laughing a little when she answered, "2006, actually." Her eyes danced at him over the rim of her rocks glass and Tim swallowed, regretting his decision to get in his car before thinking it through.

Why the fuck had he come here?

It had been months since he and Kathryn had had a real conversation. There was no reason for him to be spending his time thinking about her, or about whether she was okay. He could have just gone on living without knowing.

He could have; maybe he should have. Maybe it was selfish for him to have come here at all. What could he possibly expect from the woman who'd lost everything because of his inadequacy?

After all the time since his last visit, it felt strange, being in her house. Especially with her here, watching him. Like stepping into a movie he'd found on TCM. He wondered if maybe the end credits were about to roll, and his time with Kathryn would be over with little more flourish than a "The End" splashed across a blank, dark screen.

He probably would have laughed at the melodramatic thought if it didn't make him so goddamn sad.

Tim had been surprised and also a little comforted when he discovered that Reed had, in fact, understood his cryptic suggestion in the parking garage and offered Kathryn WITSEC. Reed had suggested killing off Sarah Geller and letting Kathryn start a new life as someone else—someplace else. It would have been a new beginning for her.

Of course, Kathryn, the stubborn ass, had refused.

As far as Tim was concerned, that had been a huge mistake. She'd ratted out at least a dozen high-level drug dealers and human traffickers with ties to organized crime. She'd saved countless victims in doing so, even if they'd never been able to track down the individuals from Daniel Boone; a thought that remained raw and ragged like a wound. Still, it was only a matter of time before someone as bad or worse than Mark Dawson found her and killed her. Probably after a prolonged period of torture. Tim finished his drink in an attempt to scrub his brain of the thought.

Maybe she was cleaning the house to sell it and move. He could hope, anyway.

The uncertainty of Kathryn's future was yet another reason he shouldn't have come. He was just setting himself up for disappointment when she inevitably died in some horrible, brutal way or disappeared in the middle of the night to some undisclosed location.

Tim looked at Kathryn, shifting uncomfortably on her bare feet. He wished her shoulders would relax because they looked like they were about to reach her ears. Seeing the tension fizzle in her body left an empty pang in his stomach because he knew he was personally the cause of at least some of it.

Kathryn's eyes danced across his features, almost as if she was trying to decipher some hidden code in his words or appearance. Like she didn't understand why he was here or what she was supposed to do. For a moment, Tim was afraid she was going to press him for information on Delia.

Sometimes at night, he would wake in a cold sweat, convinced she was in his room again, after dreaming of all the things she could have told Reed or his superiors after Tim had left Louisville.

Tim didn't know how to tell Kathryn the only reason he was here tonight of all nights was because the last of her paperwork at the Lexington office had been processed earlier in the day. According to Art, Sarah Geller's case was officially no longer under the purview of the U.S. Marshals Service. Tim had wanted to see her earlier, but thought it important to wait until there was no way his presence could be misconstrued or jeopardize her parole and the deal she'd struck with Reed and Vasquez.

Tim thought it had been the noble thing to do, but it had been a goddamn lonely, distressing, righteous move on his part. And now he thought maybe it would have been better if he'd just stayed away entirely. Forever.

Selfishly, though, he was glad to finally see her. In her own clothes, in her own house, with no tubes or wires or broken bones.

Just new scars, hidden somewhere under her t-shirt.

Tim didn't know how long he'd been lost in his thoughts. But he realized it must have been too long when suddenly, Kathryn was moving fiercely in his direction.

His body stiffened instinctively to absorb whatever blow she was about to deliver before he could stop himself. Instead, she threw her arms around his neck so forcefully that she knocked him back a step. Kathryn was standing fully up on her toes, stretching so she could tuck her face into the curve of his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist like a reflex, pulling her the last few centimeters closer, and he relished the feeling of her body pressed against his.

Kathryn's breath was warm on his throat. He had to steel himself to keep from shivering as the sensation washed over him. And then she whispered, so quietly he could barely hear it, even this close, "It's so good to see you."

Tim loved the way she felt, and he never wanted it to end. He wished momentarily he could freeze time and just live in her embrace forever—safe and calm and just himself in a way he felt he couldn't be anywhere else. With anyone else.

Disappointment swelled in his chest when she began to pull away, but she only made it a few inches before she stopped and looked up into his eyes. He peered down at her, trying unsuccessfully to read her expression. He thought of a hundred different things he could say, but none of them felt like the right one, so he bit his tongue and remained silent. Then she leaned up and kissed him, taking him by surprise yet again.

How was it Kathryn was always able to catch him unawares?

Tim kissed her back eagerly. Her touch had been tentative and unsure, so he made certain his response left no room for doubt.

He thought he had come to Kathryn's home to ask forgiveness; he had even hoped, perhaps, for friendship. But this... this was better. This was what he'd truly wanted, if he was being honest with himself.

That honesty was something he was still getting used to.

Kathryn's fingers flew up and tangled in his hair, and he kept his hands pressed firmly into the small of her back in order to hold her steady against him. His chest was on fire and his mouth could barely keep up with hers. She started walking, pushing him backward, and he hit the far wall hard enough to make the pictures jump off it for a moment. It hurt, but he didn't care because it was worth it to have her safely tucked in his arms. Worth it to feel her wanting him the same way he wanted her.

She moved her hands from his hair and started to peel his jacket back from his shoulders. He broke away from her just long enough to whip it off and throw it in the general direction of her couch, though he had no idea if it made it that far and he didn't care.

She was about to kiss him again when he placed his hands against her face and held her still. Kathryn's cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily, and he could see the same desire he felt inside clearly written in her expression. He knew, now, not to take that openness for granted because it was never guaranteed.

Tim ran one thumb over her lips and traced her cheek with the back of his other hand, savoring the moment and everything it had taken to get here. His fingers gently caressed the place where he'd caused that dark purple bruise, no longer visible along the side of her face, but still fresh in his mind. Kathryn's strong, sure fingers traced the place where he'd been cut by Delia above his left eye and her expression flickered from lust to sadness for just a moment.

Then she reached up and raked the backs of her fingernails through his hair, electrifying his scalp, and Tim groaned in appreciation before drawing her lips back to his in an obstinate kiss.

Slowly, Tim removed his right hand from Kathryn's face, tracing her neck and her shoulder before trailing down her arm to her left hip. He threaded his thumb through the belt loop of her jeans and used it to turn her body away from him, directing her backward toward her bedroom, still kissing her.

#

Once they entered the bedroom, Tim kicked the door shut so no prying eyes from the backyard or the street beyond could see inside. He wanted Kathryn all to himself.

His fingers deftly undid the button and zipper of her jeans, and she shook her hips enticingly to coax them down to her ankles. He was hesitant to let her go, but he pulled away in order to remove his badge, holster, and backup firearm while she stepped out of her denim and pulled her t-shirt over her head. Tim kicked off his shoes and tugged away his belt before stepping toward her once again. Even the ankle monitor's persistent green light blinking up at him could not dampen his desire and excitement.

Kathryn stood in briefs and a plain sports bra. Tim almost chuckled at the utility of the garments; he wondered if she even owned lingerie, or if everything in her drawers was full coverage and black. His eyes raked slowly up her form and he noticed the scar on her abdomen left from her tussle in the woods of Daniel Boone.

How had he missed it the last time? Had he really been so focused on his own needs that he hadn't seen it?

He noticed, too, the new scar on her shoulder from Dawson's bullet; an ugly, twisted thing that nearly matched his own left shoulder scar. Like they both belonged together, equal parts of a painful, broken set.

Tim realized suddenly that Kathryn was much too far away from him, so he took a step toward her, watching her chest as her breathing sped up the closer he got. "Tell me what you want," he said, and her eyes flicked up to him, surprised and maybe a little defiant.

"What?" Kathryn licked her lips and took another step backward, tripping lightly over an errant shoe. Tim smiled at her sudden awkwardness. It didn't suit her.

"Tell me how you want me to touch you," he said, taking another step closer, his body now only a few inches from her own. Close enough to smell her shampoo again.

He reached out a finger to trace the shoulder scar gently and was mollified when she shivered slightly against his touch.

"I… Like the last time," she stuttered, but she looked down at his feet as she did so, needlessly embarrassed.

Tim could admit to himself that he was enjoying this far more than he should. For once, he was the one keeping her on her toes. It helped that Tim found her honesty and vulnerability incredibly arousing.

"Like this?" he asked, moving his finger from her scar to trace the curve of her waist slowly, trailing his fingers in swirling motions back up to her neck before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a lingering touch. He was glad the awful black had faded back to the soft auburn color he liked so much.

She nodded.

Tim leaned forward and trailed light kisses across her collarbone and up her neck, pressing his tongue against the spot where her jaw curved back toward her ear, letting his teeth graze carefully against her skin. "Like that?"

"Yes," she said, her breathing increasingly ragged and irregular.

Tim moved his hands slowly across her hips until they rested against her back. "You want me to be gentle?"

He could feel her body stiffen, and then melt into his embrace. Goosebumps raced across her arms and Tim smiled.

He leaned close and whispered huskily in her ear. "You want me to make love to you?"

Kathryn shoved Tim away—hard—and he stumbled a few steps backward as he released her. He couldn't help the amused chuckle that escaped him, but the sound only seemed to make Kathryn more defensive.

"Don't make fun of me, Deputy," she said, and the hurt look she tried to hide almost made him feel guilty for teasing her.

Tim attempted to rein in the wolfish grin spreading across his face before it became something utterly feral, though he did so with only mild success. "No, ma'am, I'm not."

He watched with deep satisfaction as Kathryn's expression melted into something less hurt and more unsure as he allowed the implications of his statement to linger in the air between them.

It was then that Tim resolved to take his time.

He enjoyed the soft, surprised sound Kathryn made as he pulled her against him once more. With one hand at the small of her back and the other in her hair, he lowered her onto the bed beneath him. As they tumbled backward, Kathryn greedily wrapped her arms and legs around his body, holding him tight and tugging his lower lip carefully with her teeth.

She pulled at his shirt while he removed her bra, and they explored each other's bodies as if they were both brand new, letting their fingers trace scars and tattoos with softness and intention.

Tim trailed kisses down her neck as his fingers traced their way over the bare skin of her thigh, and he enjoyed that, for once, there was no rush. No impending doom or death waiting for them on the opposite side of the door. No place they needed to be in the morning. No one they needed to chase or evade. Nowhere for her to disappear to, even if she could take the monitor off.

Finally, it was just the two of them and nothing else.

Every touch felt overdue, like he'd been waiting his whole dumb life for it. He felt like some heartsick teenager, giddy and light as his stomach fluttered each time she gasped or moaned beneath him. And when she told him she was ready for "more," he didn't hesitate.

Tim had never thought much about his name. It was plain and simple; a straightforward pronunciation that meant he'd never had to worry about a teacher or C.O. butchering it during rollcall. But the way Kathryn breathed the single syllable repeatedly against his ear made him think it might be the best sound he'd ever heard. He was reminded of how few times she'd actually used his first name when speaking to him, and he was glad his touch could coax it from her now.

Tim could admit to himself that he hoped to hear his name on her lips more in the future. In this moment, he realized he wanted to hear her say his name endlessly.

No more ma'am or Deputy. Just Kathryn and Tim.

#

After they'd finished, they took turns showering and Tim smiled when he realized she'd left a fresh Dollar Store toothbrush out for him on the sink without asking. She was already tucked into bed when he came back in, and he hesitated briefly in the doorway. This was the last moment he could feasibly leave without complicating their relationship even further. Despite the way he felt about Kathryn, he wasn't sure he was ready for what the alternative would mean.

For her, and for him.

Finally, Tim tugged on his underwear and climbed in beside her. He was done hesitating or second guessing; this was what he wanted. Kathryn was already half-asleep when he pulled her hips back against his and wrapped his arm around her middle.

When she rolled over to press her face against his chest instead, the movement sent a warm flush through him.

He looked down at her and realized she was wearing the stupid Grizzlies shirt again and he almost laughed. It was such a small thing, but he thought he knew, now, how much it truly meant.

Without warning, Tim's brain rushed through every potential bad thing that could happen now. Delia, the Russians, Reed… there were too many unmanageable factors; there was no way he could account for them all. He could feel his stomach churn as a warning pressure began building behind his eyelids.

But then Kathryn ran a hand through his hair, and some of the overwhelming anxiety eased, replaced with a pleasant tingle that raced along his scalp and down his spine. He looked down at her, expecting to see a concerned frown. But her eyes were still closed; she was still half-asleep.

And even half-dreaming, she was still there. Still comforting him.

Tim pushed every other thought from his mind with effort, deciding that uncertainty could wait. His lips brushed against Kathryn's forehead because tonight, this was all that mattered. So he held her close and slept without dreaming.