For AndItsOuttaHere and SassyJ for their assistance and encouragement:
***
Clare was not unaware that she had a price on her head. That she wavered between genuine fear for her life and perverse amusement that anyone would actually pay to kill her was a tad concerning but death wasn't something she'd ever been uncomfortable with. No, she didn't like losing her parents. Yes, she wished them back every day, wished she could have saved them. But she'd watched both her mother's and father's faces turn peaceful as they'd passed.
Not like now, when they were revolving in the Lidet family crypt because their youngest turned fugitive.
Clare closed her eyes again. She couldn't look behind her without alerting anyone behind her that she knew they were there, so she listened. The wind in the trees. The bugs and birds. The longer she listened the more she heard. The needles of the Virginia pine to her left. The leaves of the oak versus the hickory. The rustle of opossum in brush (much quieter than herself). And as the wind changed she smelled fabric softener.
Tim shifted as his fingers tried to grow numb and the wind changed, blowing at him rather than from the northwest, perpendicular to his position. After days away from human contact the scent of Snuggle, however faint was as noticeable as that hot court reporter's perfume was in the courthouse. Behind Lidet, on the far side of the river, brush shifted, ever so slightly. He followed the motion with his scope, Lidet on the backburner. The figure edged slowly around, taking the least direct path to find a shot to take out the doctor.
Clare sighted the reflection of the scope in front of her a scarce moment after smelling the man behind her. Deciding that the scope, which was probably attached to a rifle, was a more immediate threat than fabric softener she rolled off the log and into the water just ahead of the shots.
Tim watched Lidet move just as a thug rounded a Charlie Brown-esque Virginia pine, Smith & Wesson outstretched. Bark and branch flew at the two rapid-fire shots, sandwiched between her falling and her arm reaching out of the water for her boots. He lined his shot at the thug and fired. Winging the thug, he grabbed his rifle and leapt down after him. Lidet, seizing the opportunity, made it to the other shore and started pulling on her boots.
Remembering his purpose, Tim took a knee and tried to wing her. She rolled and all she got was a graze to her upper arm. "Stay put!" he yelled at her, before taking off.
Running parallel, on the other side of the river, the thug was firing at Tim now. Once. Twice. Tim pulled his Glock and fired left handed, chasing straight as the water turned.
Thug dead. And Tim was ankle deep wet, damn it.
He turned and made his way back to where he'd seen Lidet, shoes squeaking. She was still on the other side of the river and was currently shaking water out of her jacket and looking at her arm. "Dr. Lidet, stay where you are!" he hollered, looking for a way across that wasn't that fallen log, while radioing whoever was nearest. He had next to no reception, a few occasional words, but mostly static. He reported in, hoping someone-anyone- could understand him, as she cocked her head at his futility.
"I did stay put where I was," she grumbled under her breath before sitting back on her heels. Clare watched the marshal keep trying to radio in. She'd stayed put, like he said, but mostly to watch his impotence in the situation. He really didn't want to walk over that log. She didn't blame him, it'd been down for a long time and there was a reason she hadn't crossed it. But she didn't mind getting wet, if she was going to get pneumonia, it'd be icing on the cake at this point. But this guy, he was avoiding getting wet like a housecat.
It shouldn't have been funny to watch him pace and scramble. But it was a slow week.
Naturally, Tim didn't see another option without slogging through more water. He grabbed his pack, and edged up to the fallen tree. His steps hesitant and awkward, give him a cliff-face any day.
He'd made it a few feet before he heard cracking. Images of every scene in a movie where a train sped over a falling bridge crossed his mind. He looked across his own makeshift bridge. Yeah, that wasn't happening.
Lidet was sitting now, watching him cross, making him almost wish she'd run, rather than play audience and make him nervous. The little half smile playing at her lips assured him playing audience was the only reason she'd stayed.
Tim shook his head scowling and crossed a few more feet. Then the tree snapped.
And then Tim was neck deep in running water, his feet scrambling on mossy rocks.
Well, shit.
The marshal's head was above water for one grim moment before the current took him. Clare was on her feet running after him, yelling for him to swim across the current.
His pack was floating along ahead of him and managed to get caught in some brush 40 or 50 feet from where he'd gone in. Clare reached it within seconds but the marshal was still in the water.
Fearing that he'd hit his head, Clare stripped off her jacket as she ran, tossing it with his pack, and ran in after him. Always a strong swimmer and moving with the current she reached him as he was trying to catch himself on more debris in the water.
Coughing and hacking whenever he came up, she pulled him by his collar closer to the shore. Eventually, she pulled them both out of the worst of the current. Finally, Clare lay back, her feet and most of the marshal still in the shallows. "I better get some damn fine karma for this shit."
Tim woke up to searing pain across the inside of his left bicep. He wasn't ready to open his eyes yet, at least not until he felt it again. Reflex had kept him from doing more than inhaling his scream rather than exhaling it, but it also made him twitch enough that his arm hurt even more. "Faker. Yeah, you're still unconscious. Your skills are less than convincing," she said.
He opened his eyes to glare at her. She was prettier than her photo. Not after 2 days in the woods though, she was pale and the skin around her face was tighter, he knew she hadn't eaten, and there were dark rings under her eyes. Her dark hair twisted back, jacket zipped up all the way, and Nelson's gun tucked in her right boot. But she seemed calm and focused as she was stitching his burning arm up. There must have been a horribly ragged gash from the branches he'd tried to catch himself on. What was left was a 6-inch staggered red line broken up by her neat stitches. There was maybe space for three left. Three that he would be awake for. "Dr. Lidet, you are under arrest."
She smiled, "Oh, good, you're funny."
Another stitch.
He winced.
"Oh, c'mon, I thought you Rangers were tough. Big baby!"
"I'm sorry, did I complain? When was the last time you had stitches? Without anesthesia? Fuckin' hurts."
"When I was seven," she smiled at the memory, "my brothers pushed me out of our tree house. In their defense, it was on fire. It was 12 feet up and I landed badly. Compound fracture, exposed tibia, 15 stitches. Local wore off after 11. Wasn't even the worst pain of it."
"Do I wanna know the worst pain of it?"
"My brother Cam, he studies jellyfish now, he thought it was a prank-the exposed bone and gore and all- so he poked it with a stick," she seemed awfully chipper about it. "And then he was my slave for 6 months."
Tim's lips quirked before he stopped them.
"I saw that," she cut the thread. "And done." Off his puzzled look, she added, "In my ER rotation I started telling that story, it's been a big hit." She dug in his med kit more passing him a sealed bottle of water and a conveniently packed Z-pak. She conspicuously broke the seals and passed them to his right hand, "Take 'em."
"Yes, Doctor," he did as she said, closing the bottle and setting it down. "Now, as I was saying," he lunged and tackled her, holding her forearms so she couldn't pull, "You are under arrest."
She grinned again at him this time. All pride and sparkles and undisguised glee, like he'd lived up to an expectation. She did this right before before elegantly kneeing him in the side and shoving him off simultaneously, flipping him on his back, straddling him. "That was rude, Deputy." She then pulled his handcuffs from her back pocket, asking, "What was next in your plan?" Near hysterical grin, still full wattage.
He scowled, full out, working his jaw, "Can you get off me so I can check my pockets now?"
She stood, adjusting her jacket, then absently, "Shit."
"What?" he was still checking his own pockets, badge, guns (all still loaded and currently resting on top of his pack), key ring (conspicuously lacking the handcuff key), and no wallet. He glared up at her, "You stole my wallet? What the hell?"
Clare had taken off her jacket and was sitting in front of his bag again, applying butterflies to an inflamed slice from her neck to between her breasts. "Busy."
"What happened?" he breathed. It was scabbed and oozing blood as she tried to pull it together without looking down. She clearly hadn't been taking care of it. "Dr. Lidet!" he nearly shouted to get her attention, "What happened?"
She glowered over at him, annoyed, "What's it look like?"
"It looks like someone tried to kill you. How long has it been like that?"
"Couple of days. It was healing until someone tried to tackle me. Tore the scab open."
He swallowed, "Is it infected? Do you-"
"It'd be oozing pus rather than blood then." She sounded irritated, "I am a doctor. I have kept a bit of an eye on it."
He scowled, and moved around the fire she'd built to sit in front of her. He pulled a tube of ointment from the pack and dragged the bactine she'd left out over. "Stop wasting my stuff, Lidet." He squirted the bactine over a bit of gauze and reached to dab it over her neck and paused at her expression, "Or you can do it?"
She smirked and tilted her head, "Go ahead."
"Cute." He dabbed at it until she took his hand and dragged it, far too roughly in his opinion, "Should you be doing that?"
"Taking the torn scab off so it can heal cleanly? Yeah," she removed her hand, flexing her fingers. "Although, if you wanna do this right you'd have to stitch it."
"I think butterflys'll do," he said. "How'd you know I was a Ranger?"
"Tattoo was a bit of a giveaway."
"Um," he paused, "I, uh, um." he held the gauze over her breasts, staring where the slice continued between them.
"I think I can take it from here, Deputy." She took the gauze from him.
He flexed his fingers, just 'cause they were stiff though, not like he could still feel where she'd touched him. "You've seen my tattoo, you've stitched me up, and you've stolen my wallet. I think you can call me Gutterson."
"Not Tim," she smirked, "Or is this a, 'me fugitive, you Marshal' type of thing?"
"It is one of those type things, Doctor," didn't she know not to flirt with him?
She passed him the box of butterflies. "Don't stretch anything, just tape it shut. Okay?"
"Okay," he swallowed, and tilted her head to an angle that didn't stretch the skin. "Alright, um. How am I-?"
"Start about an inch from the end, beginning, whatever, and then do that until you feel uncomfortable again. Or you could just find me a mirror?"
"Sorry." He continued taping until just above her breasts this time.
She smirked and took the butterflies back without comment.
"You haven't patched up where I winged you yet?" he looked at the open graze, and grabbed another bit of gauze.
Being more accustomed to this sort of medicine Tim didn't bother glancing over for her approval as he cleaned and wrapped her arm, trying not to pull it away from what she was doing. When he did look at her, the expression on her face made him want to blush.
As he hadn't blushed since Tori Lynn Andrews stuck her hand down his pants after hearing he was enlisting back in high school, Tim was less than pleased. "You are under arrest."
"I don't care," she said simply.
He looked at the sky in exasperation; the sun had set sometime between waking up and then, "Truce? Just for a little while?"
Clare tilted her head at him. He wasn't supposed to do that, not help patch her up, and not offer her a truce because they were both tired and exhausted. "Why?"
"'Cuz...you're hungry and I have what is loosely described as food? You're technically in my custody, I am responsible for you?" He wasn't supposed to be cute and nice, either. Damn it.
"I am not in your custody. We're just next to the same tree right now, Gutterson," she said it sadly because she was. He was gonna get screwed when she finished escaping, she just knew it. His jackass suit boss was gonna punish him for losing her and then he'd curse her name while trapped in whatever Marshal's office was worse than Lexington. "How's your head?"
"Fine. Look, we can protect you-"
He was like a puppy almost, all cute and earnest, except now she kinda wanted to kick him, "If I give up a bunch of people I don't know for crimes I know nothing about!" she snapped, standing. "I was told how this would work. The feds who arrested me were really informative. The problem is I don't know anything! So the 'quid pro quo' thing-Really NOT gonna happen!" She turned to stalk off, she still had his cuffs and she'd tossed his radio in the river, so he couldn't report that he'd found her. Besides she was pretty sure the knot on his head was a mild concussion, he wouldn't be able to follow her all that well.
Instead he caught the wrist of her wounded arm and spun her around, "Just," he rubbed his face with his free hand, "eat something and we'll cross the other bridge later, okay? And give me my cuffs back."
"Did no one teach you how to negotiate, Deputy?" she asked, "You're supposed to make offers, not demands. This is not 'I get a meal, you get your cuffs back'."
"Just sit. Would you?" his eyes blazed.
He looked really cute frustrated, and she was just too appreciative of the relative normalcy of pissing off a tough guy to not oblige him. She sat. He followed. Their knees almost touched as he reached for his bag. Idiot. It was his hurt arm. She pulled it to them as he winced again, and he glowered at her. She grinned, completely relaxed. It wasn't quite like pissing off her brothers and their friends, she was too aware of Tim for that. But it was nice how predictable he was.