Tim and Clare sat with Rachel until Ethan and Evan woke up and demanded more breakfast than just a doughnut each. Clare fixed them eggs, chatting about the Lego and anime concerns of 9-year-old boys today and Tim watched the domesticity. Rachel watched Tim watch. At least until he caught her and she had to go in another room to stop snickering or risk waking Raylan, who was snoring a lot quieter today. Tim went and sat with boys, and made the mistake of asking what a Bionicle was. Clare joined Rachel in her snickering after she finished scrambling the eggs.

While Tim was being schooled on modern Legos, Clare watched and wondered very bad thoughts. Rachel, having ovaries too, could read these bad thoughts. "How many you want?"
"At least two. It was too hard after I lost my parents, I'd have died without my brothers. Must suck for only children," Clare said softly, in the hall.

"My nephew, Nick. I feel for him, but we talk about his mom a lot."

"That's good. Healthy. While my brothers were gone, I couldn't talk to my dad at all. He'd just cry. Or nod and leave and cry. I don't know who he talked about her with. It took him so long to do much of anything after she died."

Rachel decided she may subscribe to the 'you don't really know someone until they're on the edge of a volcano' thing, after all.

Raylan awoke to noise in the kitchen and laughing youngsters. Not his usual scene. Tim passed him coffee on his way in and said, "We even saved you a doughnut."

"Good man, Gutterson," he yawned. "What time is it?"
"According to the clock on the microwave to your left, Raylan, it's 8:45," Tim drawled to the boys' snicker.

"I take back what I said about you being a good man."

"I ate your doughnut."

"What are you two bickering about now?" Rachel said, coming in from the hall, Clare behind her.

"Oh, they do the foreplay thing often?" Clare looked at Raylan with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, they're both awfully pretty," Rachel snickered, "and they spend a lot of time together."

"Good to know," Clare responded gravely.

"Well, we travel for a reason, it makes him terribly uncomfortable for us to be seen," Tim said regretfully.

"It's profoundly arrogant to think you'd be my type," Raylan said, mildly affronted.

Ethan and Evan, whether they understood the conversation or not, had continued their own conversation about their prospective activities for the day. "Clare, will you help us build a fort in the living room today?"

"A) Not today, no. I'm going out. And B) do ya'll have permission to build a fort in the living room? This is not your house, bébé."

"Where are you going?" The other twin asked.

"Out."

"I thought she was supposed to be stuck here like us! Protective custody or whatever!" They took turns whining at the Marshals.

"Clare is going to the office among other places," Tim said. "And she is under protective custody, same as you."

The boy on the left, Ethan, crossed his arms, "You're just going on a date, aren't you?"

"That's so lame," Evan said.

"Wait until you hit puberty," Tim smirked and Raylan nodded.

Clare shook her head at the whole display. "When are we getting out of here?"

Tim glanced at the clock, it was close enough to nine, he said, "Now, if you like."

The boys dutifully went to hug her before she could get a word out, "Can we do the fort tomorrow?"

"If you get permission."

Ethan turned to Rachel, "Can we?"

"By all means."

He turned back to Clare, she nodded, "Yes, we'll build a fort tomorrow. I'll even get some extra blankets today. All right?"

Shouts of, "Awesome," and, "Score," were interrupted by her saying,

"Tell your parents and Izzie, "I love them'. Ok?"

"Fine."

"Whatever." And the boys raced to the living room where the TV was turned on.

Laughing, Tim got up and said, "Good luck," before taking Clare by the hand leading her out, saying, "Blanket forts?"

"Blanket forts are awesome, Deputy."

Shopping was horribly uneventful. They'd held hands, his star and gun under the hem of his Henley as he'd escorted her around the shops. Clare bought a few outfits, promised Tim a lingerie show later, and spent far too much time looking at shoes. She settled on a couple of pairs of flats, a pair of running shoes and a pair of nude pumps Tim had admired her trying on. Most of the time was spent on her looking at a total of fourteen different motorcycle boots. None of which she purchased. She also didn't buy any of the "fuck-me" heels they both had looked at.

She also bought blankets. Tim didn't know what she'd do with five full-size, lightweight blankets, but he was sure he could come up with something that wasn't a blanket fort.

She'd decided to change into a dress and the heels before going to the office. Tim was loitering outside the dressing room, as he had been most of the day so far when he dropped his cup of coffee. "Does that mean I clean up nice, Deputy?"

She did look gorgeous. The high neck hid the scar, the pencil skirt fit just right, and those stupid pumps made her legs go on for a damn long time. She'd pulled her hair back into a twist and pinned it. "Alfred Hitchcock called, he wants to renegotiate your contract," he deadpanned.

She laughed and sat in his lap, "Not too much then?"

"Too much for who?" he kissed her. "I'm having 'Mad Men' fantasies here."

She nuzzled his face, "Later. I mean for meeting with Moss. Too much?"

He pulled back to think about it for a millisecond, "No, we'll go knock him on his ass."

She kissed him, far too heavily for the public place, and then just looked at him with that intent expression before taking his hand to lead him out.

"I love you, too," he whispered to the air.

Raylan sat in his Towncar after driving to Wynn's. He sighed, really not wanting to get out of his car. There were two goons sitting outside the Wynn-ebago. Two more in a car about two hundred feet away. Wynn was moving up in the world.
He felt their eyes as he went to knock on the trailer's door. The customary Mike answered, "He doesn't want to talk to you."
"I know. Don't care. Get him for me."
Mike didn't move, "He's busy."
"Tell him Raylan Givens is out here about Brian Sullivan and he better get un-busy."
Mike pouted before closing the trailer door. A beat passed. Then two.
Mike opened the door and gestured Raylan into the trailer. On cue, Wynn slunk out of the back door to his customary seat, "Why, Deputy Givens, what an unexpected pleasure. Just a warning, if this conversation goes like our last... Well. I have precautions set up. We'll put it like that."
"I'll try to keep that in mind," Raylan sat across from him. "Brian Sullivan's car exploded yesterday."
"That is unfortunate. I should send him a card."
Raylan smiled, "You get this choked up over all your customers?"
"Mr. Sullivan is no longer a customer of Duffy Security. But you knew that."
"Like you knew he wasn't in his car when it blew up, huh?"
"I heard about it on the radio."
"Uh huh."
"So, if that's all, Raylan, I should be getting back to my TV..."
"It's not all. Colin Stark was murdered in Tramble yesterday. You've got people in there, don't you?"
"I knew a guy named Sam Porter. Trustee, shanked the other day with a toothbrush of all things, by a guy, name of Arlo. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Should I?"
"Because you're here for information. Why should I give you that information, Raylan? You haven't even said, 'please'?"
Raylan's mouth worked, "Duffy, I'll ask you one more time, and I'll say it slowly so you can understand... Do you know why Colin Stark was killed the day his plea agreement went through?"

"I don't even know who Colin Stark is, Raylan. How could I know why he was killed?" Wynn asked reasonably.

"Excellent point. Here's a point of my own: If I find you involved in this, we're going back to our other conversation," and Raylan departed with that metaphorical shot.