Ok, I should be in present day in the next chapter, complete with Raylan and Art and Rachel. Thank you to everyone reviewing
Anything at this moment was a raccoon.
When they could both breathe again, their eyes met and they laughed at themselves. Tim clicked the cuffs around her wrist so they were trapped together, saying, "Stop runnin' for the night, alright? My head's killin' me."
Clare chuckled again and ran her hand over his head, watching his eyes. Pupils were about the same size, but she couldn't check dilation without a better light source. "C'mon, Gutterson. I guess we got that truce again," she pushed him up and held his shoulders as his wobbled a bit.
"You gonna patch me up like the Marshals in your transport?" he said, starting out toward the fire slowly.
"Might not be as successful. This might need more equipment than your little box..."
"Were you serious?" Tim said his flashlight in his eyes, "About Mexico and Belize and the cabana boy?"
"Does it matter?"
"May tell me where to find you later," he rested his head back on a folded t-shirt.
She chuckled, "You don't wanna come with me?"
His drifting eyes snapped open and he gaped. She chuckled some more. He spared a brief thought to South America with her. She was tanned and beneath him on a tropical beach, moaning his name. Ok, maybe it wasn't a brief thought, maybe it was filed away. Regardless, he ultimately decided she was fishing for a reaction like a teenager.
He knew guys who had gone to South America, made fine livings freelancing. He also knew guys that had gone back to the Middle East under varying employers, knew they needed the mad minute. Tim had had enough mad minutes, and he knew he'd get more in his chosen line anyway.
It wasn't the mad minute he was out to avoid as much as the still ones that came before it.
The mercenaries he knew, they'd thrived in those frozen moments. As Tim's stomach coiled up tighter in preparation, they'd be as still as he was, but vibrating with some invisible, hungry, energy. Like batteries, recharging with the sick anticipation of death. Tim avoided guys like that. It allowed him to sleep better, knowing they were "away." Would prefer she avoid guys like that as well. He didn't quite worry though. She wasn't their type.
Abandoning his musings, he said, "You're so full of shit, Lidet. I'm changing the subject-"
"You started this one, slick."
"Why couldn't I hit you?"
She stilled, amused expression gone, hands no longer working on another Snickers wrapper, "You don't wanna know that."
"I really do."
"Ok, then. Because you want to sleep with me."
"I think you're over estimating how good a man I am."
"Then why didn't you hit me? Either time?"
He didn't quite glare but he was damned close "I'm not gonna sleep with you."
"I haven't offered."
"Why couldn't I hit you?"
"There's a reason there's a stigma attached to hitting women. It's biology to protect the child-bearers of the species. Mere evolution. You couldn't hit me because you want to fuck me. Fucking me runs the risk of knocking me up, Knocking me up makes me a child bearer. For the good of the species, you could not hit me. Is that plain enough for you?"
Clare had been cold and detached, holding his eyes as she spoke. He stared at her a moment longer, weighing the new bullshit she'd thrown at him. But it was better they were clear, so he abandoned this line of conversation too.
"Why are you in Kentucky, Cajun?"
She huffed. "Are we gonna have to talk?"
"Or we can talk about my diagnosis, doc," he smirked from his prone position, it wasn't his first concussion. He knew the routine.
"My mother's family offered to pay for med school if I moved up here. I had other reasons to come up here too, so I took them up on it. That answer your question, Deputy?"
He nodded, "You're less trouble when you're talking."
She smirked, "Think I can't multi-task these bracelets off?" She picked up her wrist and his as well. "You want a story?"
"Sure."
"There was a girl-"
"Was she pretty?" he cut in just to be a dick.
"About an 8," she blew him off and continued, "and she had a bike-motorcycle- that she loved and adored. She- the bike- she'd been her daddy's, y'see. So, she loved this bike and being a bike, sometimes things on her broke. But the girl was away from home, so she had to find herself a new mechanic for her love-"
"Her love?" Tim scoffed.
"A bike is faithful and true, Deputy," she seemed immune to his commentary, continuing, "So, she brought her love to someone she heard was straight and as true as her love. But this MENSA candidate tried-"
He chortled, "MENSA candidate?"
"Do I have to explain the reference? This brain-trust tried to sell our girl the wrong carburetor to fix the problem. Something with the fuel/air mix in the engine, and this bastard couldn't tell a Honda from a Yamaha. Anyway, our girl has four big brothers on top of a sensible old man, so she continued her search for someone worthy."
"You're bitchin' about your bike now?"
"I fell in love with that bike before I ever found a boy willin' to brave my brothers to cop a feel. She is my first love. And I haven't been able to enjoy her for two Goddamn weeks and now I never will," Clare finished sadly. "Yeah, I'm bitching about my bike."
He smiled, she was sweet. God help him, he actually liked her. Wouldn't keep him from bringing her in though. It'd be easier to clear her name from within the system, anyway. She hadn't pulled on him, even when they were fighting, and someone was trying to kill her. They had a responsibility to protect her just to track down that party, even if she didn't cooperate with the corruption investigation. He could convince Art of that.
"You need to give me Nelson's gun," he said softly.
"How come you didn't ask earlier?" she countered.
"I wanna sleep with you," he non-answered.
She shook her head at him, but pulled and handed it to him, grip first. "Idiot."
"That's what everyone says," he agreed pretty chipper.
"How long did it take?"
"What?" he asked in legitimate confusion.
"Your idiot water-cooler routine. How long did it take to master?" she smiled knowingly.
"No routine."
"I'm full of shit? How much work it take to get through Sniper School? Can't imagine the math was all that easy."
He smiled, "'Magine med school was worse."
"I don't pretend to be slow, Deputy."
"Thought we were being less formal?"
"I think it's best if we are formal, Deputy."
He let his eyes run over her face, "You're probably right, doc."
"Usually am." She was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees again, watching the fire.
He knew he wasn't supposed to sleep, lest he not wake up. He could think of things to get himself up but he couldn't do any of them with a fugitive. He was stranded in the woods with a beautiful woman he couldn't touch. And it was his choice. Not that he could do much with his head pounding like it was.
His pupils weren't unequal, but he was sluggish and a little dizzy. Clare wasn't sure of concussion without a CT, but she was sure time and rest would help him recover. It hadn't been a hard blow when they were fighting, but given that he'd lost consciousness in the river his system probably wasn't up for as much as he wanted to throw at it.
Her brothers Jackie and Danny were similarly stubborn. Training past all recognizable exhaustion. She knew the warrior type. The glory hunter. Loving one of them was a broken heart by itself. She loved two, but they were her brothers, not her lovers. It wasn't as painful as it could be, she supposed, feeling for women like her mother and sister-in-law.
Loving a man who fought wars. Any wars, was all about holding on for the ride. Keeping your own compass; to be his compass. It took strength and a price. Clare shot a man at 19 to save her father. Her mother had killed a man when she'd been pregnant with her brother Danny. The perp had broken in to send a message to Clare's NOPD father, Clare's mother had shot him, seven months pregnant and holding her two-year-old son, Jackie, loving a man like that took strength. Standing by a man like that took more than Clare was sure she had.
She also found herself wondering what sort of man Deputy Gutterson was as she watched the flames dance around the plastic remains of his socks.
He was cute enough, bright enough, and he could handle himself. And the timing was for shit. The first guy to get her blood flowing since she'd come up here and he's a damn Marshal chasing her through a national park. Figures.
"Why'd you become a Marshal?"
"Why not?" She turned to see his half smile, he shrugged, "It appealed to me."
"Old school justice?"
"I guess. I like the chasing too. The tracking."
"The hunting?"
He nodded. "I was a scout sniper in Afghanistan. It's not outside my training."
She nodded, gaze on the fire again. "Just less killing?"
"Yep."
"Your parents proud?"
He smirked at her fishing. "My mom is. When she's not scared, she says. My sister keeps her off my back though."
Clare looked at him now, "What's she like?"
"Insane." He smiled, "I love my sister, don't get me wrong. But I reckon she's a lot like you. Insufferable. Smart ass. Know-it-all. Great prep for COs. I imagine after a childhood with you, your brothers were well practiced in taking shit."
"I was the baby, Deputy. I don't think they were taking all the shit from me, sport. Your sister older?"
"By almost six years. I was her baby doll, but she taught me how to play light sabers."
"Oh. I used to love light sabers. We'd play pirates too. And Robin Hood," Clare was grinning widely. That full wattage one from before, he couldn't help but smile at it.
"Why do I doubt you were ever Maid Marian?"
Clare ignored him, "What about your dad?"
"Dickhead."
Her light expression faded instantly, "I'm sorry."
He shook his head, rueful.
"No, really. My daddy was wonderful. I can't imagine not having someone like that. I am sorry." She squeezed his hand.
He scanned her face. She was being honest. "I survived. He wasn't abusive or anything. Least not physically. He just...had to have his own way. And no one of my momma's bloodline is conducive to that."
"No one?" she asked with a half smile.
"Nope."
"So, no wonder you didn't stay in the Rangers then?"
He smiled his own half smile, "No wonder at all."
"When Danny came home from his first tour, Jackie had just been assigned to Kittery. And Danny started telling this story at the dinner table...just for Jackie's benefit, really."
She cocked her head at him and he nodded for her to continue.
"Danny said that they NEVER have a full SEAL team at SERE school at once because the ONE time it happened the SEALs did escape. And retaliate. And it was a whole big thing."
Tim swallowed. "I'm familiar with the tale."
She smirked, "Is there a Ranger version?"
"Don't you need to get some sleep if you're gonna be running all the way to Mexico tomorrow?"
Tim tugged her closer and passed her another tee from his pack. "Go to bed, doc."
She smiled, taking the shirt, and using it as a pillow, rolling on her side to face him. And not pull either of their handcuffed arms uncomfortably, of course. "I'll check on you in a couple of hours. But I think you'll be fine."
"Thanks."