Tim never slept much the night before a sniper mission. Despite his deliberately laid-back affectation, he was ultimately a perfectionist-a fact which Raylan recognized and often took advantage of. After Kathryn had driven back to their motel, Tim had retired to his room and taken his time going over every detail of the assignment before him. He had inspected and cleaned the M110, carefully packing it away in its case and storing it neatly beneath his bed. Then, he had re-read the folder Kathryn had given him over and over until he had memorized each word.

It was obvious there was information missing from what Kathryn had provided to him. The profiles on each of the four men were too neat and concise, and the thought that he was being deliberately sent into a situation where he did not have all the information he needed made him angry. He felt a warm splash of irritation in his belly, and it only swelled and stretched within him as he continued to pour over the file. He knew everything he was being told about Solkov, the man he would likely need to kill, his two lackeys Melnik and Popesku, and even the mousy librarian (whose name was Ralph Ibsen) backward and forward. They seemed an odd quartet, and he wanted desperately to understand what thread could have possibly pulled them all together. He could see illegal arms trading and drug trafficking listed for the the first three, but Ibsen seemed wholly apart from them. Who was he and why was he important to them? Tim had to stop himself more than once from stalking down to Kathryn's room to demand more intel. He knew, though, from experience, that if she hadn't shared that information yet, it wouldn't be forthcoming tonight. Especially if his instincts about who she worked for proved true.

When Tim's hands started shaking, he decided to take a drive to calm his nerves and soothe his frustration. He raced down Rt. 231 in the dark, listening to the radio as loudly as his speakers would allow. Still, his heart raced and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. He rolled the windows down and let the cool evening whip through his hair. It only took an hour before he felt his grip on the steering wheel ease, and he turned around to head back to the motel. He pulled back into the parking lot just before 1AM, though not before he had picked up a bottle of bottom shelf bourbon from a gas station.

Tim didn't like to drink much the night before a mission that required focus, but a single firm pour was enough to soften the tension in his shoulders and allow him to catch a few hours of sleep.

His eyes snapped open even earlier than usual and he rolled out of bed just after 5, taking a shower and brewing a pot of coffee. He sat in the dark taking in as much caffeine as he could, fidgeting and jittery. He was anxious to start the day. The waiting was always the worst part of what he did; the cold anticipation of things going wrong before he'd even had a chance to make them right. He eventually realized it was futile to attempt any sort of focus in his room and decided instead to pack his car. As he closed the trunk with his go bag, bourbon, and borrowed rifle tucked away inside, he noticed light spilling out from around the curtains of Kathryn's room. He hesitated a moment, and then decided it couldn't hurt to check in with her.

When she opened the door, Kathryn was wearing a pair of leggings and a baseball t-shirt that had certainly seen better days, with her short hair wrestled into an unruly bun at the back of her head. He could hear some music playing, but it was too quiet for him to even pick out a genre. "Deputy Marshal Gutterson, good morning," she said, standing easily on one leg with her other foot resting at her calf.

"'Morning, ma'am. May I come in?" She stepped aside, and he walked straight to her coffee pot, which was still half-full, as she replaced her revolver in the holster she still had stashed near the door. "You know," he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee without asking, "you'd save yourself a lot of trouble if you used a semi-auto instead of that old thing."

She shrugged. "I have others. But I prefer the intentionality of this one when I have the luxury. If I'm going to shoot someone, I'd prefer it to be a decision than a reflex."

Tim took a seat at her table, coffee in hand, and surveyed the room. He saw that she had packed her suitcase already, but left an outfit laid out on her well-made bed. He wondered whether she had made it herself this morning, or if the neatly tucked corners were leftover from yesterday and she had simply foregone sleep in the hours since he'd seen her. He also spotted a yoga mat rolled out next to the bed, and a glass of scotch she had poured for breakfast.

"Did I interrupt your morning meditation?" he asked, smiling over the top of his paper coffee cup.

"In fact, you did," she said, taking a seat across from him with her drink in hand.

"Seems counterproductive with the whiskey," he said. Kathryn smiled at his remark, but took a sip anyway.

"Usually, a little yoga is enough to keep me level-headed each day. While I don't recommend a liquid breakfast regularly, I thought today I would make an exception."

They settled into a companionable silence, and Tim caught some more of the music, though he couldn't see where it was playing from. It was soft and melodic; an acoustic guitar and a single clear tenor voice. He didn't recognize the tune. His eyes slid over to Kathryn, who was staring off at something only she could see.

"Do you have any questions about today?" she asked him, "Now's your chance."

Tim thought of all the questions he had. He remembered the anger he felt yesterday at realizing how little information he was actually being given. He scratched at the tattoo on his chest, frustrated by the bureaucracy he was sure was responsible. He even considered asking Kathryn what her last name was, because even that omission scratched at the back of his mind, an annoyance he wanted gone. But he knew from experience he was unlikely to receive any answers-at least any truthful ones, so he shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. "Kill the bad guy. Maybe. And just the one," he said, looking over at her pointedly.

Kathryn watched him carefully for a moment, then tossed back the last of her drink. Tim followed suit, chucking his paper cup into the garbage bin and standing up. He knew a dismissal when he saw one, and his lack of questioning had effectively ended their morning companionship.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said, walking over to the door and pulling it open. "Name-is-stay, or whatever."

She laughed. "Namaste, Deputy," and she locked the door behind him. He wondered idly if those were the last words he'd ever hear from her.

#

Tim arrived at his location even earlier than he had intended. He eventually wriggled into place just after 9:30, after killing time by wandering through the brush at the edge of the hill, under the guise of establishing a perimeter. While not an entirely unreasonable pursuit, he also knew it wasn't necessary. When he'd driven in, he could see the only tracks in the dirt were from Kathryn's car the day before, and he had even driven several miles further down to make sure he was alone. He'd turned around when he discovered a downed tree that would have made any vehicle traffic impossible.

As he settled into position, hat turned backward to keep his hair out of his face, belly down on a blanket with his eye pressed firmly up to the scope, he felt at home. While the anticipation before a mission always left him teetering on the edge of anxiousness, the waiting in position brought with it a sense of calm and ease. He was good at this; exceptional, even, and he knew that. He was calm, in control; things he often didn't feel in his daily life, even in the Marshal service. He remembered the first time he'd done this; the way the sand felt in his boots for two days after, and every tension in his body eased.

Kathryn had been right; Solkov and his men arrived just before noon. Tim watched them get out of their SUV; Solkov casually picking at his fingernails as Mednik and Popesku made a show of clearing the area. The librarian-Ibsen-stared furtively around, looking entirely out of place and uncomfortable. Tim couldn't be sure what weapons they might have in the car, but he could see that Mednik and Popesku each carried a 9MM, and it appeared that the other two were unarmed. Though, given Solkov's impressive girth, he supposed he could be hiding a firearm in a fold somewhere that he couldn't see.

Eye still pressed to the scope, Tim reached into his pocket with his right hand and pulled out his cell. He typed in the number Kathryn had given him with a simple "All good," and hit send. He didn't expect a response, and he never received one.

Kathryn was nothing if not prompt. Tim watched her car pull in at the opposite end of the field at exactly 12:59. When she got out of the car, he noticed she was wearing the dark jeans and Blue Oyster Cult t-shirt he had seen laid out on her bed, but she had also thrown her blazer over top. He was pleased to see she had foregone the matching heels and was wearing the boots he'd seen her in the day before.

Kathryn wandered easily over to the group, holding her arms up with her keys in her hands. Tim watched as Melnik patted her down, removing a cellphone from her back pocket, and taking her keys. He tossed them both to Ibsen, who fumbled and dropped the keys before scooping them back up out of the dirt. Tim was impressed by Kathryn's body language. She looked more relaxed than he'd seen her even in her motel room. Given the circumstances under which he had been directed here, he knew the slouch in her posture was a purposeful facade, but it was a good one.

Tim watched as Solkov greeted Kathryn with a shit eating smile on his face, all pomp and over-the-top joviality. And then in an instant, that changed. He shouted something Tim couldn't quite make out at this distance and he watched as Popescu punched Kathryn hard in the side. Melnik did the same before she had recovered from the first blow. He watched as she fell down on one knee, holding her ribs, and Popescu backhanded her across the right side of her face.

Tim let out a long, even breath. He rested his right index finger gently against the trigger, waiting for the moment he would pull.

Solkov walked closer to Kathryn, who Melnik was holding firmly down on her knees by one shoulder. Both he and Popescu had pulled their handguns and were looking at Solkov expectantly, waiting for orders. Tim felt more than saw Ibsen, cowering to the side, backing away from the group toward Kathryn's car. Solkov was talking fast, spitting as he did so. When he stopped, he seemed to be waiting for Kathryn to say something, and Tim was surprised to see that she was smiling defiantly up at him. She said something through her grin and Solkov nodded at Popescu, who raised his weapon-

Tim pulled. The sound of the shot rang out across the empty field and was still echoing into the trees surrounding him when he pulled again. And again.

It took only a moment for Popescu's entire body to twist from the force of the blow, blood and brain matter spattering across Melnik and Kathryn. Tim saw her head snap toward his position, her face surprised but otherwise unreadable. In the second that it took Melnik to register what was happening and aim his weapon, he was already dead. Solkov had turned to run toward his SUV when Tim's bullet pierced through the base of his skull from behind and he flailed to the ground, lifeless, covering the side of the SUV with red.

Tim swept his rifle in Ibsen's direction as Kathryn reached for Melnik's gun on the ground beside her. Ibsen yanked open the door to Kathryn's car and Tim would have caught him if Kathryn had not shot him in the leg first. Ibsen buckled, screaming, and was spared the killing shot meant for him. Tim saw Kathryn lying on the ground, the gun in her hands still aimed toward her car as Ibsen threw it in reverse and disappeared as quickly as he could down the access road at the opposite end of the field.

Through the scope, Tim watched Kathryn stand, fury clearly written across her face as she tucked Melnik's weapon into the back of her jeans and started running through the goldenrod toward him.

#

Tim was back at the car as quickly as he could pack up and carry his gear back. He had run through the underbrush on instinct, knowing he wanted to be prepared when Kathryn caught up to him. He understood their relationship had been irrevocably changed. In only a few moments, he had done precisely what she had instructed him not to. According to what she'd told him, this could mean that 8 years of undercover work was now useless, and he doubted she had been exaggerating on that point. He knew there would be consequences, he just didn't know quite what they would be.

Tim closed the trunk of his car, watching the trees beyond for any sign of movement.

"Deputy Gutterson!"

He turned. Kathryn had managed to cross the road without him noticing. He realized she must have traveled at least a half mile out of her way to cross undetected further down the road, beyond a deep curve. She was breathing heavily, sweating in her blazer, and she was pointing that 9MM directly at his chest, though he noticed her finger was not yet on the trigger.

"You stupid son-of-a-bitch. You have any idea what you just did?"

"I'm pretty sure I saved you from a gruesome death in an abandoned construction site," he leaned against the car, folding his arms across his chest in a show of relaxation, but every muscle in his body was tensed and ready to react if he needed to. "So you're welcome."

"Give me your keys, Deputy."

"Oh, ma'am, I'd be happy to give you the keys, just as soon as I settle into the passenger seat." Tim straightened and walked around the back of the car.

"Like hell. You've done enough damage and I'll be damned if I let you fuck this up any further." Tim pulled the door open and Kathryn leaned forward, like an animal about to lunge at the bars of her cage, wild and desperate. "Deputy..."

"Not so easy to pull when you know it's wrong, huh?" he said, taking the keys out of his pocket. He leaned forward and held her gaze intently with his own. "It ain't so easy not pulling when you know you should, either."

He watched her measured response. She took a deep breath, steadied herself. Even he had to admit she looked menacing with another man's blood in her hair and smeared across her face, but her finger still rested along the barrel of the gun in her hand. He'd had a gun pointed at him enough times to know when a person really meant to do him harm. Kathryn was clearly not interested in shooting him, which was the only reason he still spoke so candidly.

"Goddammit!" she yelled, and she lowered her weapon.

"I don't disagree," Tim said, and he tossed her the keys over the top of the vehicle, settling into the passenger seat.

Kathryn got in, resting the gun on the center console and yanking her blazer off in quick, violent movements. She wiped her face with the blazer and tossed in onto the backseat before staring the vehicle with equal ferocity.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"That weasel is going to try to get out of the country as quickly as he can. There's only one place he'll go." Tim watched as Kathryn threw his car across the road in a U-turn that threatened to roll them back into the ditch. He heard the rocks kick up into the undercarriage as she sped down the dirt road, and he couldn't help but wonder what exactly he had gotten himself into.