Rachel is pissed. Beyond pissed in fact, she gazes down at the ripped leg of her best pantsuit, she is going to kill them. When she can get them out of the mess they've gotten themselves into.
Or she rather hopes she can.
It's pouring down, and she's laid up in a bush some eight feet from the basement window. Only there's eight feet of open space between the bush and the basement, and her two idiot colleagues are handcuffed together through a pipe, so she either needs the key or a hacksaw, and she's pretty certain she's left her tool kit at home.
Simple. Just scurry across to the window, get it open, climb in, uncuff them and then get the hell out of there. All before Art shows up with the cavalry, the FBI and the ATF, and anyone else from the alphabet soup that wants in on the bust.
And the basement is flooding.
Did they feel they needed another challenge or something?
She carefully squints up at the porch, it appears unoccupied, but she doesn't have the best angle, and the very last thing she needs right now is to get caught with Raylan and Tim.
The rain is really heavy now, and it provides cover, her grey suit and dark sweater provide a kind of camouflage, she's taking a chance, she's left her marshals' windbreaker and ballistic vest behind, the bright yellow lettering stands out too much. She has her badge and her gun and that is all that she needs. And possibly a pipe wrench, but that remains to be seen.
Rachel scurries across the eight feet of open ground as the rain picks up, gets down on her hands and knees in the pool of water that is already flowing in through the poorly fastened window, and slips in.
They're there in the corner, they're cuffed to a pipe, and Raylan is kinda wrapped around Tim in a very strange way. As she moves quickly across the room she realizes that Tim really doesn't look too good, and Raylan is looking stricken.
Tim is being held up by Raylan, and beneath Raylan's clenching fingers, Tim's right shoulder is a mangled mess. The wound looks chewed.
"Dog." Says Raylan. Rachel frees his hands, and Raylan changes his grip very carefully, pulling the younger marshal hard up against him. He's shivering himself, cold, but he tries to give what little body warmth he has to his friend.
They're knee deep in dirty brown water, cold and shocky. Rachel frees Tim from the pipe. She looks around for something that will get them out of the water, neither of them are in any kind of shape to take part in what's going to happen next. There's an old washing machine, one of the huge twin tub ones, as she turns to suggest it, Tim's knees buckle. Despite Raylan's skinny frame, he's very strong. Or it could be strength born of fear, he bends, arm behind Tim's knees and heaves the young marshal into his arms.
At least they are out of the dirty freezing water. Sitting on top of the old machine, Rachel assesses the situation. She could suggest that Raylan takes her Glock. He has seniority, and there's the question of male pride, but Raylan's eyes are nearly as distressed as Tim's, and from the way he's holding the cocky sniper in his arms, keeping a firm grip on his still bleeding wound, Raylan's too far out of it to be of much use. Tim's head is resting on Raylan's shoulder, his eyes are closed, he almost looks peaceful, except he's hurting like hell. Dog bite. It's missed his neck by some infinitesimal measurement that she can't name, but the holes and the tearing… only Tim's heavy ballistic vest prevented worse damage.
It's a hour before there's a knock on the basement door, and a loud voice asks if they're decent.
Rachel yells back that they need a bus, that Tim's in a bad way, she doesn't mention Raylan. There's a dried, hard, closed look on Raylan's face that's different to anything she's seen before, and she realizes that she's seeing Raylan's fear. He can't hide it from her.
A lifetime of pulling all his emotions inside, it's possible he can't even recognize emotions that aren't anger or hormones. It goes a long way towards explaining why he consistently makes such piss-poor choices.
They get Tim awake, sort of, and up the stairs, although he's tottering a bit, and still shocky, and Raylan's mask slams into place for Art and the ATF who are smug, and the FBI who are just assholes as usual. It's probably one of the qualities they look for on the application form. Rachel really doesn't care, she just wants to get Tim and Raylan to hospital, and get them back in their right minds again.
Right minds. Okay, that's something of a stretch. They were both abused children, they've both grown up tough and resourceful, Tim is cooler than Raylan, Raylan's all heat and flash and flare over. He's louder than Tim. Even his silence is louder.
Dammit, she loves both of them. Tim like a brother, Raylan… well that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question. How does she love Raylan? She could count the ways, and dammit they haven't even slept together, although they've been dancing around that one for weeks.
Raylan's hands and wrists are bruised and scraped, he has some minor rope burns on his palms, a fight bite on the knuckles of his right hand. He gets cleaned up by a steely-eyed nurse who doesn't instantly melt at the patented Givens' charm, which is currently a pale shadow of itself. The haunted hazel eyes haven't left Rachel's for a moment.
His hands cleaned, dressed and carefully wrapped, Raylan gets down off his perch. There is something in him that wants to run and hide, but something stronger doesn't want to be alone. Reaching out and asking for help is not his thing, so he kinda hopes that Rachel can extrapolate.
Either she read him like a book, or she's taking charge and making decisions. Raylan doesn't mind. His brain is short circuiting again, decisions can't be made.
Tim is going to be okay. They've stitched him up, after a thorough cleaning of the wounds, he's doped up to the eyeballs, loopy as hell and making absolutely no sense. A nurse comes in as Raylan and Rachel are trying to calm him a little, sticks something in the iv port, Tim's eyelids start to droop, and the loopy rambling calms to a mumble.
"Blessed silence." It's kind of a risky joke, but Rachel thinks she can justify it. Mostly because Tim is going to be okay.
Raylan snorts, his nose crinkles and the Muttley snicker starts up. It's a little shaky, but it's all Raylan.
Rachel bends over and plants a gentle kiss on Tim's forehead, tiny slits of blue peer at her for a second then the eyes finally close.
She straightens. Turns towards Raylan. He's holding out his hand. The left, there's a bandage round it, covering the dressing on his palm. She takes it without hesitation, resisting the sudden urge to squeeze. What she wants to do is kiss it better, but first steps.
They walk together towards the Lincoln which someone has thoughtfully dropped in the parking lot.