He caught the van outside his townhouse and nodded to the Marshal inside it. Pulling her bags from the back, he passed her his keys. "On the right."
She held the door for him, taking her medical bag from him as he closed the door, locking the deadbolt.
"Um, kitchen, living room, half bath," he pointed, "Bedrooms and bathroom, upstairs."
She nodded to the bookshelf, "That's a lot of Harry Potter."
"I like it," he tried not to sound defensive.
She kissed him softly, "I love you."
He leant into her gently, holding tight, smelling the burnt powder in her hair. "What do you-"
"Shower?"
"Top of the stairs," he took her medical bag and set it down on the coffee table, before moving to follow her.
At the bathroom door, she took her bag from him, setting it on the counter and pulling her toiletries, such as they were, from it. "You coming too?"
He surprised himself by thinking about it. "You sure?"
"I might cry," she warned.
"Doesn't scare me," he lied.
She nodded, turning on the water. He pulled off his shirt as she adjusted the temperature. Untying his boots and tossing his socks in the basket, he sat on the edge of the tub with her. "Clare," he said softly.
When she didn't respond, he pulled her hands away from the water, "Clare."
She had tears already, "I hate being scared. I hate it. The whole time he was stalking around the house, I... I kept thinkin' 'what would Dad be doin'?' or Danny or you... And when he stuck his hand through that closet I was okay. I- I could do it... But, after?"
"Couldn't breathe?" he pulled her into his lap.
"After the adrenaline, all I wanted to do was throw up," she confessed. "When my dad... It wasn't like that."
"You were a little focused on other stuff." Tim swallowed, "Your file never said he was still alive when you found him. I didn't know."
She nodded, head still leaning on him, sniffing, "I didn't even think then. I just went to Daddy and pulled. And fired."
"Your dad was dying on the floor. You didn't see Izzie or the twins in danger tonight... You got them away from it. What happened, if it had to happen, was one of the best ways it could have gone. Except for him taking a swing at you. That's still pissing me off—" Clare cut him off with a kiss, but he continued, "Everyone's ok, Garcia'll be fine... and the contractor community is shrinking daily."
She snorted and looked up at him with a budding smile. "Not even funny."
"Lil' bit?"
"Not even a tiny bit."
They sat there quiet for a long moment before Tim said it, "I don't really know what to say here."
She chuckled and sniffed. "I don't think anybody does, babe."
"I love you. Know to say that."
She tilted her head up to look at him, " We were happy this morning."
"Yeah." Kissing her forehead, he muttered, "I had all sorts of ideas for when I got you here."
"And they didn't involve letting me sob in your bathroom." Clare sniffed, "Jeez, Gutterson, no creativity at all."
He was reassured, by the glint in her eye and the dry tone of her voice, enough to tug off her t-shirt. She kissed him like she meant it when her head was free. They took their time moving under the water, being slow and almost gentle soaping each other.
Finally, Tim ran his hands from her breasts down as she was rinsing her hair, dropping to his knees.
He held her hips still as he licked into her once. She gasped in shock, grasping his shoulders reflexively, knees rocking, "Tim?"
"Recalling this morning," he smirked, before flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue just to feel Clare move against him.
"Wouldn't be easier to fuck me against the wall?" she eyed him with heat.
Yes. "We got all the time in the world," he smiled.
Her response was to move one hand into his slicked-back hair and push his head back down. Maneuvering one hand to widen her stance he slipped a testing finger into her as he pressed his flattened tongue against her, and her hand in his hair tightened as she moved with him. Tim slipped another finger in, pushing higher against her already tightening muscles, "Tim, babe," as the tip of his tongue explored her moving, wet heat. "Tim-"

Clare didn't want to stand there and be serviced. But the sight of Tim's hopeful smile saying, "We got all the time in the world," made her heart ache in all the right ways. So, she let him. And lo and behold, she was standing in a shower breathless and gasping, biting her tongue to keep from shouting, "Oh, suck my clit already!" before her knees gave out.
Then he did, and her knees gave out as she came.
Tim caught her.
When she could breathe again, she muttered, "Next time, flat surface."
He smirked, smug as a cat with cream, "Yes, ma'am."
She swatted him on the shoulder and he laughed, a full belly laugh, and she tried to commit every line on his face, every drop hitting their bodies to her memory to keep the moment.
"So, last night, you told me to find you a bed," he started.
"I 'member. Do you have one in mind?"
He leant over to turn off the water, then picked her up, bridal style, and she laughed. "I do."
"Take me to bed, Gutterson."

Clare had grabbed the towel from the rack on their way out and tossed it on the bed before he set her on it.
Tim spared a brief thought to how romantic flannel sheets weren't, but he remembered the last time he washed them, so he figured they weren't too bad.
They moved slowly for the first time ever. She was still breathing hard from the shower and he was still a little hesitant about her vulnerability. Holding each other's eyes rather than lips as they memorized each other. When they finally did kiss, soft and naked, the fire smoldered and they pulled back only learn what made the other's eyes roll back in their head.
Clare ran her tongue under his top lip and felt him stiffen. His tongue dragged across the roof of her mouth and she'd moan. She let her fingers trail up and down his spine and he'd moan, stiffening against her belly. His hands were rough on her breasts and her nipples felt on fire waiting for his touch. She gripped his shaft, first gently, then with rougher and rougher tugs as he buried his face in her throat and pulled her thighs further apart.
She guided him into her, moaning and arching up at the shock of his penetration. Tim stayed close, moving within her. Pulling his head back, he tried to catch her eye, "Clare. Look at me, Clare!"
She opened her eyes then, bleary and lust-fogged. She keened something unintelligible, dragging her nails down his back.
"I love you, Clare," he managed to get out before he lost it, coming inside her.
"Don't let go of me," she whispered.

Clare was dead to the world after she fell asleep. Tim didn't know if it was the stress or the sex, but she was gone a few minutes after she came, head on his chest, holding onto him. It was sort of nice.
Her hair wasn't making his chest itch, her breath wasn't tickling. He watched her breathe for a few moments, enjoying the innocence of her expression. The easy trust of falling asleep with a lover.
Or with a stranger in the woods, he amended with a smile.
Tim did try to sleep. Tried to settle for rest, too.
After forty-five minutes of watching a woman he loved sleep, after the exhausting day of her having to kill a man coming after her, he gave up. Clare's exhaustion worked in his favor as he slid from beneath her. She moaned softly as she curled up in the warmth he left behind and resumed her soft breathing.
He dressed silently before picking his cell and sidearm from the bathroom, and he called the only person who'd back his chosen play. Raylan.

Dozing in the chairs at the hotel was so much worse than dozing on the couch at the safe house, Raylan let Rachel do it while he mainlined Chaney's Vanilla from the Stop'N Go next door. He kept an eye out the window on the parking lot until his cell vibrated. Tim.
The same Tim who should have been busy with Clare at his place under the less-than-overbearing eye of a van outside. "What?"
"I wanna visit Graham. I was hoping you'd lend a hand in letting him know his family is safe and sound," he replied with disturbing affability.
Neck hair sufficiently goosed, Raylan replied, "Well, that's awfully generous of you to want to keep him from worrying, but I think it's fucking stupid to want to stir this shit in the middle of the night."
"Because you've never done that?"
Raylan scowled at the air in front of him in place of his colleague, "I don't recall inviting you on that particular field trip, Tim."
"But as a senior Marshal, it's your responsibility to assist in mentoring junior Marshals. Like me," Tim being this friendly was scarier than Tim with Duffy, in Raylan's opinion.
"Let me wake Rachel up."
"'Braver man than I, Gunga Din'," was Tim's line before hanging up.
"Dickhead."