Art watched from the window as Tim's SUV pulled up outside his place. It was supposed to be barbecue evening, but the rain was still lashing down, and Art Mullen drew a line at barbecue in the rain.

So he watched as Tim scurried out of the driver's seat, Raylan's door already open; Art watched his blind former deputy slip his hand into the crook of Tim's elbow, and a lump came to his throat. When Raylan lost his sight, Tim stepped up when no one else either could, or would.

Two years they had been together, it had been a bumpy road to say the least. Raylan had been devastated and terrified when he woke up to darkness, but Tim had been there every step of the way. Supported Raylan through the rages, the intense silences when the cowboy went deep inside and no one else could reach him, coaxed him out of the depressions. Art figured that they needed each other. Tim derived as much from their relationship as Raylan did.

Art went to open the door, before he could wax more sentimental about his deputies, because if he did it would be hard to do what he had to do, send Tim out on assignments. And it wasn't as though Tim would thank him for it either.

It wasn't lost on Art, the affectionate way that Tim leaned in to the cowboy, nor the sweet smile on Raylan's face. The smile that Raylan only had for those he truly loved.

In the two years since Raylan's career as a marshal ended, he had become something of a mascot for the team. Such a small office, Raylan's tragic injury had affected them all, for a while there Art had been concerned that the whole office from marshals to support staff would fall apart. It wasn't as though one of them had been gunned down in the line of duty, it was a senseless, meaningless tragedy which was all about cruelty and violence. And, not even one that the AUSA could prosecute in any meaningful way.

Art had dreaded telling a devastated Raylan that his old man would only serve a few months for what the old bastard had done. It had done nothing for Art or AUSA Vasquez' feelings when Raylan appeared to just accept it with a shrug of his shoulders.

Now he watched Raylan with his former comrades, the gentle affection that they all bestowed on him, and realized that Raylan benefitted from the spontaneous outpouring of caring that his teammates gave him. Before being robbed of his sight, Raylan really didn't know or understand positive attention or what to do about it.

Tim gently guided his blind lover to the couch. It was time to eat.

While Tim was loading up two plates with food, Rachel Brooks slid onto the couch next to Raylan.

"Ray." She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.

He leaned into her a little, and put out his hand, Rachel wrapped both of hers around his, rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. She had been horrified when Raylan was injured, and she and Tim had been there when he woke up, witness to his panic and distress, then his angry attempts to shove them all away from him.

Only Tim had had the guts to walk back in there.

It took time, but slowly the relationship that Tim and Rachel had begun to forge with Raylan at work, began to evolve as Raylan struggled with his blindness. It made her so happy when they had found strength in each other. Watching Tim and Raylan fall in love was something that gave Rachel some hope.

Raylan entwined his fingers with Rachel's, he could feel there was something more to the way she was holding on to his hand. "What's up?" he said quietly. "Joe?"

It was less a question than a statement, and Rachel sighed, Raylan tugged her hand a little then, until she leant against him, head resting on his shoulder.

Two years ago, Rachel would never have dreamed about telling Raylan her problem. Theirs was not that kind of relationship. Now, was different. Raylan had gone through his own rings of fire, and somehow come out the other side. He was still the cocky cowboy that had turned the East Kentucky office inside out within hours of his arrival, but he let the kind, gentle, intuitive side of himself out more these days.

It was in LA that Rachel had seen sides to Raylan that she hadn't known existed. Up until then all any of them had really seen was the tough as nails, stubborn marshal who could outdraw everyone.

They were chasing Rolly Pike. Rachel was an experienced intelligent marshal, with a few years under her belt. It wasn't that she was failing, or that Raylan was undermining her, it was simply that his natural instinct for the chase was so much more advanced than hers.

There was the bizarre moment when they encountered the feisty old sailor, and Raylan protected her, she wasn't even sure what he did, and it was weird but she felt protected. Then came the Mexicans, and the way he had sat down and politely and considerately coaxed the true story out of the elderly grandfather.

In some ways that flash of intuition and subtlety only served to remind her just how annoying Raylan could be. He was a talented, experienced marshal with a real gift for people, but put him back in Kentucky and everything went to hell fast.

Then six weeks later, a senseless piece of brutality and violence from his own father and Raylan's life changed forever.

Rachel went with Art to pick the old man up. She had never understood Raylan's brand of nineteenth century justice, until the unrepentant fiend was standing there in front of her, crowing about blinding his own son.

Rachel wanted nothing more than to pull her Glock and let the old bastard have it right between the eyes. Only Art's drawn, sorrowful face stopped her. Her Chief was struggling, horrified that he had set in motion events that had ended so devastatingly for one of his deputies, and angry as hell that no one had really bothered to look more closely at the dangers of putting Raylan back in his home town. Anger directed at himself as much as Dan Grant and the brass who made decisions.

"Hey."

Raylan's voice was a whisper in her ear, and Rachel sighed and cuddled a little closer.

"Where did you go to?"

She really didn't want to go there. They tried never to talk about the events immediately after Raylan's tragedy.

"Just thinking." She said. And his hand tightened gently on hers.