Kathryn roused herself just after five in the morning. Tim watched her over the top of his book as she stretched and then winced reflexively. She said nothing as she headed into the bathroom, and he must have drifted off in his chair after she'd turned the shower on because the next thing he knew, she was leaned over him saying, "Come on, Deputy. I'll drive so you can get some sleep."

Tim didn't argue. "I'll be out in a sec," he said and tucked the book under his arm before heading into the bathroom. His reflection looked like shit and he hoped it was just the unflattering overhead lighting because he couldn't have blamed someone if they mistook him for a zombie if he looked half as bad as the thing staring back at him from the mirror. He splashed some cold water on his face and swished some more around his mouth to get the sticky feeling off his teeth. When he came out, Kathryn and all of their belongings were already gone, so he tugged on his shoes and headed out to the car to meet her. He wondered how she had managed to pack all of their things away without waking him, and realized he must have been even more tired than he looked.

In just under two hours, they would reach the Lexington Courthouse and then he and Kathryn would part ways. He had no way of knowing whether she was right when she said none of the things they had done together would blow back on him. He was still sure that someone would contact him in the future in order to provide a report, or at the very least a statement to corroborate hers. Maybe she just meant that he wouldn't have to deal with it directly or immediately.

It was a pleasant morning and Kathryn rolled down her window to let in the cool air. Tim watched the sun rising slowly, painting the sky a myriad of bright and optimistic colors that didn't suit his mood.

"You doing okay over there, Deputy?" Kathryn glanced over at him and he figured maybe it wasn't just the motel lights that had made him look like two-day old roadkill.

"I'll manage," he said, preferring not to talk much. He was tired and trying to figure out how in the hell he would make it through the day, especially with Art up his ass.

"You should try to get some sleep."

Tim couldn't disagree with her and wouldn't have had the energy to do so, anyway. So he slid down in his seat and rested his head back against it; folded his arms over his chest and let his eyes close. They felt like they were made of concrete, they were so heavy. Kathryn had started playing some music before he'd even gotten into the car, but he hadn't noticed it much until now. He thought back to the moment he'd seen her with all those CDs in her hands at the Walmart and he still thought it was a waste of resources, especially for someone as ruthlessly efficient as Kathryn had since proved herself to be. Still, he had to admit that he didn't mind this music as much as the others she'd played. It was folksy and calm, and he drifted off to sleep following a new melody into a chorus of harmonicas.

#

Tim woke up when Kathryn slammed her door closed. They were parked back in the visitors' lot and she was already grabbing her belongings from the trunk. Tim opened his door and unfurled himself. He had a nasty pain in his neck from sleeping in the car.

"Good morning, sunshine," Kathryn said as she closed the trunk. She had a Walmart bag in one hand with the backpack he'd bought her over the same shoulder, and she was holding the M110 case in the crook of her right arm. She stretched her hand toward him as far as she could with the rifle restricting her movements. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Deputy Gutterson. Please remember the work you completed with us is not to be discussed with your fellow Marshals."

Tim had a lot of things he wanted to say, but he settled for the handshake alone. His brain was too foggy to come up with a decent remark, anyway. Still, this felt surreal. Everything that had happened was just water under some bridge he'd never cross again. And this woman who had been so gentle and vulnerable in his bed the night before was now brusque and businesslike, thanking him for his service. He wanted to say something useful or profound, but all he came up with was: "How are you getting out of here? You don't have a car."

Kathryn smiled. "Don't worry about me, Deputy. You just get home safe and get some coffee." With that, she turned to leave. He watched her as she marched across the parking lot with a million unanswered questions zipping through his head too fast for him to catch a single one. And then she rounded a distant corner of the courthouse and she was gone.

Tim debated whether he should return home or simply sleep in his vehicle until it was time to punch in. But the thought of a hot cup of his own coffee and a shower in his own apartment was too tempting to pass up, so he slid into the driver's seat and turned the car on. When he did, he was met with the same solemn music he'd fallen asleep to; Kathryn had either forgotten the album or left it for him. He decided she was too detail oriented for the first, which left him wondering why the second.

As he pulled out of the lot, he turned the volume up and found himself enjoying the enigmatic gift.

#

Tim's sojourn to his apartment was shorter than he would have liked, but the brief visit gave him enough time to get a good shower and some fresh clothes while the coffee brewed. He filled his largest tumbler with as much of the good stuff as he could before turning around and heading back to work. He had about a half hour before he needed to leave, but inertia was his only ally on a day when he was this tired. If he stopped, he knew he wouldn't be able to start again. So instead, he just kept going.

There was some paperwork on his desk that he picked up and finished when he first got in. He had a feeling he wouldn't have time for such trivial administrative matters later.

Rachel was the first other person in the office, which was no surprise, but he was still glad for it. "Well look at you, Mr. Vacation," she said as she dropped her things on her desk before walking over to his. "Art is ready to kill you, you know. You're lucky he has bigger problems."

"Who did Princess Raylan shoot this time?"

"A couple of people, looks like, but he's still in Miami, so I don't know for sure." Miami. Shit, Art was definitely going to be on a rampage today. "You sure you took a vacation?" Rachel asked. "You look awful tired for a man who just spent two days relaxing."

Tim decided that a lascivious half-truth would suffice. "Well, with the right companion, vacation time doesn't entail that much sleeping. Didn't Joe ever show you that?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Gross." Rachel peeled herself away from his desk and headed into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee from the pot Tim had brewed. Just then, the door to the office swung open again and Tim looked over to see his boss come pounding through it like a bull who'd breached the pen.

"Tim Gutterson! My, it's so nice to see you this morning," he said and Tim thought the sweetness in his voice sounded like it was laced with arsenic. "My office, now!" Tim followed behind Art and pulled the glass door closed behind him, so he could spare Rachel and Nelson, who was just walking in, some of the yelling.

Tim opted for levity and immediately regretted it. "What can I do for you, Chief?" Art tossed his briefcase onto the desk unceremoniously, knocking over an empty coffee mug and sending several papers fluttering to the floor. Tim thought about picking them up, be he was afraid to move.

"Tim, where were you?"

"I'm sorry, Art, but I was camping and didn't have any service. I saw the call this morning on my drive in."

Art looked at him. "Camping, huh? I thought you said you were just gonna stay in and do some reading?"

"Yeah, well, the four walls of my apartment got a little to close, so I left."

Tim knew that Art would probably guess he was lying. He was simply relying on the fact that he couldn't prove that he was. "You're on transport detail with Nelson until further notice," he said and Tim wanted to roll his eyes, but he did his best to look resolutely neutral. "And when Raylan gets back from Miami," Art pointed at Tim as he finally took a seat behind his desk, "you're gonna babysit him for me."

Tim couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes.

#

That first day back was mostly a blur. All Tim really remembered was how blissfully he had slept that night. Despite everything that had occurred in the preceding days, he didn't dream, and so he awoke the next morning feeling a decade younger and truly reinvigorated. Between phone duty and prison transport, Tim spent his time searching through databases where he found a disturbing amount of information about Solkov, Melnik, and Popescu; info that Kathryn had left out of the initial report she'd given him. Still, he could find nothing about her anywhere.

A few days after he'd gotten back, he took his lunch break at a little cafe around the corner from the courthouse. As he was paying for his sandwich and coffee at the register, a newspaper caught his eye and he bought it. On his walk back to the office, be pulled it open and read all about Ralph Ibsen's arrest after an anonymous tip from a neighbor alerted authorities to child pornography in his house. He was being arraigned and the trial would likely take place in a few months. Even in the article, though, there was no reference to an arresting officer or a woman named Kathryn at all. In fact, aside from the local PD, there weren't any mentions of law enforcement.

As much as he tried, Tim couldn't get Kathryn out of his mind and it was frustrating. In addition, his usual dreams of death and destruction overseas had been replaced with terrified little faces staring out at him from the dark. He woke up in a cold sweat more than once, blinking to erase them from his mind's eye. He wasn't ashamed to say that he'd slept with his bedside lamp on more than once so the shadows of his bedroom couldn't play tricks on him when he awoke.

One morning when Art called him into his office with a big grin and a, "Today's your lucky day!" he knew he was in for it. Art's excitement stemmed from the fact that he'd managed to combine both of Tim's punishments into one by having him transport an inmate with Raylan. A pregnant one, no less. And of course because it was Raylan, shit hit the fan pretty quickly. Tim was satisfied to be tracking a woman and her unborn child, but then things took an insidious turn, and suddenly he was reminded of all those faces again. When Raylan told the sniveling guard they'd tracked down as the baby's father (and the one intent on selling him or her) to "shut the hell up or Tim is going to hit you in the face," Tim realized he didn't even know how right he is. What Tim actually wanted to do was to stomp the man's face under his boot, but he didn't say that. He also had to admit (to himself, at least) that it was the most he'd ever liked Raylan.

And then he shot a man in the head, splashing blood onto an expectant mother's surprised and terrified face. And that image nestled itself down into his gut, where it took root and wouldn't let go. His dreams were no longer a sea of indiscernible faces, but only Jamie Berglund's and her baby's.

That night, Tim had returned home feeling heavy and sick. He poured himself a bourbon and collapsed onto the couch, too fearful of his dreams to use the bed. And he did what he had found himself doing nearly every night since his return. He put the CD that Kathryn had left in his car on and let himself drift away for a while in the music.

#

Everything that I have loved has turned to stone, so pack your bags and come back home.
And I'm wasted, you can taste it. Don't look at me that way.
'Cause I'll be hanging form a rope. I will haunt you like a ghost.
If my woman was a fire, she'd burn out before I wake and be replaced by pints of whiskey, cigarettes, and outer space.