As Wynn watched Raylan get in his Town car and pull away, "Mike, can you get me my phone? It's charging."
Mike passed him the phone, "Givens gonna be coming back by anytime soon?"
"Maybe, maybe not," Wynn said, pulling up a number and dialing it, "Hello... Yes, it's been a long time... No, target is not dating a federal marshal this time around... Edgar Moss... It's a little personal... I'll see you in a bit, then. Thank you." He hung up and turned to Mike. "I think Marshal Givens is not our problem on this particular subject, Mike. That is what I think."
"I don't think money was a motivating factor for Mr. Stark, Deputy," Moss said gently, keeping his smile as Tim blinked his understanding of what Moss was implying.
"Then what was, Mr. Moss-"
"Naturally, Deputy Gutterson, I was unaware of anything of the sort. I had no idea Graham Sullivan would be either willing or able to sabotage his family as he appears to have done." Moss turned to Clare, "I didn't know the price on your head had increased until Deputy Gutterson told me. I promise you that, dear."
He seemed so slimily sincere Tim had to consciously close his mouth.
Clare just nodded faintly, "I actually believe that, Edgar. Thank you."
"If that's all," Moss spread his hands generously, "Would you both like to stay for lunch? Marie makes a mean French dip."
Tim swallowed, suppressed the fight or flight response Edgar Moss engendered to stand and say, "No, we need to get back to Lexington, Mr. Moss. Thank you anyway."
Clare stood next to him, "Another time, Edgar. Thank you."
Tim watched him take Clare's hand, as they walked out to his car, and squeeze, "Be safe, Clare."
"And you."
"Deputy. Take care of our girl."
Tim bit his lip, "Good-bye, Mr. Moss." He got in the car watching Moss smile at him. Not smirk. Smile. Made his skin crawl, "He's just about the creepiest fucker I ever met."
"I only met worse during my psych rotation," Clare smiled at him sunnily after he'd pulled out of the drive.
"You're crazy, too," he pointed out.
"I love you, too," she waited until they were at a stop before she stuck her tongue out at him. "What are we doing for lunch?"
"Dunno." He swallowed, putting the car in gear again, "You serious? About painting my place?"
"There is just so much beige, babe. I know they say you can't go wrong with it but..."
"Then we'll paint it." He turned onto the interstate into Lexington, saying softly, "I don't want to move out."
"We've been together for three days, darlin'. There's not a price on my head anymore. 'Us' without that threat is bound to be different than 'us' with it-"
"We hardly met under ideal circumstances, Clare. We didn't see each other in flattering lights, we didn't spend that time idealizing one another," Tim started before she scoffed.
She winced at his glance over, then said gently, reaching for his hand, "I've had three years in limbo to think about what I wanted. You. I loved you in those woods. I loved you when you arrested me while I was playin' Florence Nightingale."
His turn to scoff, "So, I was lusting because you stitched me up not because you pulled me outta the drink and wrestled with me before pulling my own cuffs on me."
"That turned you on?"
"You turn me on," he grumbled, pulling into a parking lot. "What is this? Serious discussion day?"
"Apparently. You started this one."
"I don't want you to move out. I like wakin' up with you. I like hearing you bitch about my fridge-"
Clare unstrapped, leant over and kissed him, running her tongue along the inside of his lips before sucking on his bottom lip. Drawing back, she whispered, "My own place isn't leaving you, Tim. It's just not lettin' us move too quick, is all."
"Then why does it feel like movin' backwards?" Tim unstrapped himself and started pushing her toward the backseat. "I want you to stay. With me."
She pulled him back with her, stumbling around arm rests and the center compartment to lie back and unbuckle her belt before reaching for his. "Let me a have some time to think?"
He let her undo his khakis and pulled her jeans down, "And while you're thinking?"
"I'll be in your bed. Tim, I love you. I'm not going anywhere. I just want to do whatever we can make sure we never want to go anywhere," she leant back, kicking her pants off her feet to wrap them around his waist.
He slipped his hand between her thighs, slipping his fingers into her as she moved with him. "I love you, Clare. I want you with me," he kissed her, moving to mount her, "Hell, I want to know if you're always gonna be this wet for me," he said to her lips and she chuckled, arching into his curling finger.
"Dunno, babe. Certainly seems that way." She smiled up at him, "I've never had sex in a car before. Can you believe that?"
He pulled one of her thighs up for a better angle, one foot braced on the ceiling, the other along the back of the seat, "Good."
She dug her nails in his butt as he slammed into her, smiling and gasping with each thrust. "I-love-you-Tim," she rushed out when she could, "I-love-you-baby."
Tim had to start remembering baseball as her muscles worked him. Remembered Basic as she moaned and whispered as she rode him. He came quicker than he had that morning, barely beating her orgasm. He pushed himself up after, to gasp out, "Clare, I want you to marry me."
"Ok. Now?" she said between deep breaths.
"What?"
"Don't give me that look. You proposed to me," she pointed out from beneath him.
"You said 'ok'."
"You want somethin' more, I want a proposal that's not post-coital..." she pushed his hair back. "I love you, Tim, I mean that. And I'll marry you."
"You said 'ok'," he repeated.
"Jeez," she pulled his head down to tongue his mouth, back arching and moaning as he took control of the kiss.
Her eyes were half-lidded as he pulled back, "It's a bit soon for me go again," he grinned, "You said 'ok'."
"Shouldn't kiss me like that then, sport," she squeezed his buttock, keeping her legs around his waist, "I said ok. You want a 'yes'—"
"I know. I know," he kissed her again, "Should've asked before, if I'd known it'd get you this hot…"
"How old are you now?" she quipped, looking for her jeans.
"What's that got to do with anything?" he passed them to her.
"I'm just wondering how disappointed I should be that it's taken you this long to understand why men propose," she grinned up at him guilelessly.
"Funny, wiseass," he brushed his fingers along her bruises, then said gently, "I want to marry you. Kids, everything, the whole deal, Clare. I want it, with you. Ok?"
The intensity of his blue-green eyes holding hers made her shiver, "You can't hurt me, Tim. I'm yours, but you gotta keep me. I-"
"I can do forever if you can," he whispered.
"Yes. Yes, Tim Gutterson, I will marry you," Clare whispered back, nodding fervently.
Tim was relaxed when he came in the office after lunch after dropping Clare off at their place, as he was now thinking of it. Art caught him whistling as he was writing up Moss's notification, annunciating for effect, "What the hell?"
Tim didn't mean to smile up at him, "What, boss?"
"The whistling, Tim. I don't care how good your nooner was, I've never heard you whistle before. I was happy that way," Art said, soft enough the office couldn't hear, but he was pretty sure if Raylan'd been there, he'd have been snickering.
"Sorry, boss."
"How was Moss?" Art gestured to his office.
Tim followed without prompting, closing the door and sitting, his mood faltered a bit, "He persuaded Stark to come clean about Clare. He, effectively, cleared her name."
"You owe your love life to that psycho? Shit, Tim."
"I know."
They looked at each other for a moment.
"I proposed to Clare."
"Tell me she's not pregnant," Art shot back.
"No," Tim tried to look affronted, but he was reminded that the possibility was there, "probably."
"Jesus, Tim!" Art rubbed his face. "What did I say?"
"I know. I know. I just-"
"I've been your age. May have been a while ago, but I know."
Tim glanced up at his boss, mentor, occasional surrogate father figure, "Sorry, Art."
"Don't— You're going to marry her?"
Tim nodded.
"Don't take this the wrong way. But, son, don't you think it's a bit soon?"
Tim's turn to rub his face, "That was her point when I asked her not to move out."
"She-Wait, what?"
"She talked about getting her own place, said if she stayed in mine she'd decorate-"
Art suppressed a smile. He'd been in Tim's place.
"And I asked her to stay."
"And your way of getting her to stay was to propose?" Art asked skeptically.
"That came later."
Art closed his eyes, "Leslie always said a post-coital proposal didn't count."
"Apparently that's in a handbook somewhere. Clare mentioned it, too," Tim said.
He took a deep breath, rising, "Got a ring?" Art smiled, taking two glasses down and pouring half an inch of Pappy in each.
"My grandmother's. My sister said she'd bring it out."
"When?"
"Well," Elizabeth had never given him a time frame, which could mean next year or, "Shit. I think she's here."
"Here. Now?"
"You don't know Elizabeth, Art. She could have started driving after I called."
"And you called?"
"After Graham," Tim opted to shoot himself with his finger rather than say it, which was arguably in even worse taste. But then, these were his prospective in-laws.
Art held his glass in front of his mouth, smirking, "So, your force-of-nature sister and your new fiancée, who I would argue is a bit of a force of nature herself, are pretty much on a collision course?"
Tim sipped his Pappy, opting to savor the liquor as much as his impending toe-curling embarrassment. "Yep."
"And you're still here?"
"I enlisted to get away from the PMS at home, Art. Lying low is an art form I mastered young," Tim continued his sipping as Art adopted a thoughtful expression.
Clare was surfing the net, looking at laptops versus MacBooks when there was a knock on Tim's door. Clare picked up Tim's Beretta, that he'd taken out and handed her before he left, "just in case." She stood next to the door as whoever-it-was knocked again and she said through the door, "Can I help you?"
"Are you Clare? I'm Elizabeth. Tim's sister," the voice on the other side of the door chirped.
Clare unlocked the door, peeking out to verify, as much as she could, that Elizabeth was alone. Opening the door, "Yeah, I'm Clare. Hi."
Elizabeth was very much like her brother. She was as rail-thin, but her hair was long, and wavy with crayon red highlights. Her eyebrow was pierced, as was one nostril and her Tim-blue-green eyes sparkled the same color as her t-shirt, "So, you're the fugitive that stole my brother's heart? Thought you'd be taller."
"And limit the kinds of heels I could wear?" Clare deadpanned back.
Elizabeth grinned approvingly, "And you've even got the gun."
"Yeah," Clare stepped back, "Sorry, come in. Can I help?"
Elizabeth shook her head and carted in a duffel bag, guitar case and laptop case, "Naw. This is everything. Well, this and the car. So, you're going to marry my baby brother?"
"That's the plan," Clare nodded. "This the part where you threaten to spread my corpse over a dozen different counties if I do anything to hurt him?"
"It is."
"Ok." Clare looked at Elizabeth expectantly.
"Oh, am I supposed to come up with a threat because I kind of thought you'd covered it."
"Yeah, I've got brothers," Clare nodded, "Coffee? Can't offer you milk, but I'm pretty sure the sugar's still good."
"Tim's still doing his own grocery shopping?"
"I haven't gotten a car yet. I only stopped being a fugitive a couple of days ago," Clare explained starting coffee.
"So, you need a car?" Elizabeth said leaning against the doorjamb.
"Among other things," Clare agreed.
"So… Wanna go shopping?"
"You need to ask?"
Elizabeth drove them to Piggly Wiggly, where they spent a bloody fortune on groceries, wine and stocked up on Jack Daniels and Jim Beam for Elizabeth's bourbon and ice cream shakes.
They chatted about cars, Elizabeth's romantic history, Tim's childhood affection for Adam West's Batman ('natnan' was his first word), and Clare's time as a fugitive. "I'm saving some questions until I get to see Tim's face when I ask 'em," Elizabeth explained, cutting Clare off from a story.
Clare giggled, carrying bags in from the backseat of Elizabeth's vintage Camaro, "I'd expect nothing less."
It was near enough to five when they returned to Tim's that Elizabeth started on bourbon shakes as Clare made room in the freezer. Elizabeth cut her off at cleaning the cabinets with a shake and the line, "Boys don't learn if you do everything for them."
"Are we saying they learn?" Clare cocked her head. "He's got an empty can in there where the pineapple corroded through the can and left a mess on the shelf! Learn? Bah!"
Elizabeth snorted into her butter pecan concoction, "My brother!" she reached into her pocket, "He mention this yet?"
She'd placed on the table between them an antique ring. Shallow princess cut diamonds set in platinum on a slim gold band. Couldn't be more than three or four carats total, but they were sparkly antique carats.
"Not specifically, no," Clare whispered, afraid to pick it up.
Elizabeth grasped her hand and put the ring in Clare's palm. "It was our mom's mom. Probably not Sullivan expensive, but it has great karma."
Clare nodded numbly.
"It's got an inscription, H.J. & N.R. 1946, our grandparents, Henry Jay and Natalya Romanov, she was a refugee after the war. It's where they met, Germany, at the end of it. Always said they fell in love over a chocolate bar. They were really happy together, don't even think it was the chocolate either," Elizabeth looked at Clare intensely.
"No pressure," Clare quipped, still gaping at her engagement ring. "Tim would be pissed if he knew you were doing this, wouldn't he?"
"Oh, yeah. Livid."
"Needs to be done though, huh?"
"My baby brother. Family ring. Like you said, 'no pressure'."
Clare smiled at the ring before glancing up to Elizabeth, saying as simply as she could, "I love your brother. 'No pressure'... But he's supposed to put this on my finger." She set it back on the table between them and took a slurp of her shake.
Elizabeth grinned, looking creepily like her brother, "He was so concerned that I'd like you."
"So, there's this old ugly-ass Camaro out front," Tim shouted on his way in, "Oh... Well, it would be my sister's."
"Hey, there, kiddo," Elizabeth stood to hug her baby brother.
He caught sight of the ring on the table then, "Hey, um, I thought you were giving that to me to give to Clare?"
"She wanted me to be fully aware of the history involved since all you care about is getting in my pants," Clare explained, downing more butter pecan and Jim Beam.
"I confess, I did have plans resembling that later," Tim said, kissing Clare's forehead, "Remind me about them."
She smiled, "Elizabeth?"
"I'm gone," Elizabeth took no more hint as she grabbed her glass and hollered from the living room, "I'll be in the guest room, with headphones."
Tim smiled, kneeling rather than taking her vacated seat, "I like her so much sometimes."
"She's nice," Clare said loyally.
"Yeah. She's a peach. Ok, then," he pulled her left hand over and slid the ring on. It was a little loose, but that could be fixed, Tim mused. "Clare Noel Lidet, will you marry me?"
Clare fisted her hand to keep the ring on, wavering between responding sarcastically with "Let me think about it..." or saccharine-sweet with "Of course, God, yes," which seemed like over-kill as this was his second proposal of the day. She settled for kissing him deeply and sloppily, standing and allowing him to sit her up on his table, "Yes. Yes. Yes."
He chuckled like he didn't have a millisecond of sheer terror until she'd kissed him. "Clare-"
"I love you, Tim," she whispered.
Tim cut her off, "We can't have unprotected sex anymore."
"Well, that's not what I was expecting you to say."
"Art's worried if we get pregnant too soon."
"Oh. Art's worried?"
"He may have thought I proposed because you're pregnant," Tim confessed.
"Wow. Your boss thinks I'm pregnant? Um…" Clare processed this before conceding that the absent Art may have a point, "Ok, we'll be careful. We can do that. Grocery bag on the stairs has condoms. We don't even have to go upstairs."
He pressed his lips to avoid smiling and rolled his eyes. "Y'know, I've never had sex with anyone on this table," he said, kissing her.
"Well, hurry up so we can christen the table then," she said to his lips, reaching to set her shake on the counter above his washer and dryer, so they wouldn't spill it.
"This her bourbon and ice cream shake?" he said eyeing it.
"Butter pecan. Are we having sex or are we celebrating our engagement chastely?" Clare said 'chastely' like it was a dirty word, peeved they were still dressed.
"My sister is upstairs."
"We made love with my cousins on the next floor."
"You really do have a table fetish, don't you?" he sipped her shake. A little sweet for him, but Elizabeth had done worse.
"Yes. Oh, is that it?"
"What? I'm quite fond of your table fetish. Sincerely fond of it, really."
"You're thinkin' because we're engaged and your boss is concerned about us that we have to be boring and only have sex in beds now, aren't you?" Clare said, looking at the ring flopping around on her finger. "Oh, hell, give me a minute," she got up and went into the half bath outside the kitchen.
"I do not think that we can only have sex in beds!" Tim pondered how indignant he sounded saying that and smiled. It was an acceptable indignity, he supposed. "Clare!"
Clare had been wrapping a sliver of medical tape around the thin gold band, "It'll hold until we get to a jeweler," she said as he came behind her, "I'll need to get a chain to keep it on when I'm working anyway. I doubt it'll take to gloves."
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her with him, stumbling backwards over the edge of the couch. "You accused me of something."
"Am I wrong?" she couldn't pick her head up to look at him anymore than she could stop smiling as he held her back to his front.
"I like having sex in beds—you can roll over and go to sleep. But—"
"And duck out to hassle your girl's relatives, too?"
"That, too." He conceded and moved on, "That in no way means I have anything near a problem with your table fetish," he unbuttoned her jeans and slipped his hand inside her panties.
She moved against him, breathing his name with a soft moan.
"Later, you're not there yet."
He started to twist a finger into her just as Elizabeth started down the stairs, empty glass in one hand, the other covering her eyes, "Really, just two seconds!"
The mood was severely maimed.
Tim's hand stilled and withdrew. Clare's moan this time was less than pleasurable as she buttoned her jeans back up. "You said you liked her," Tim accused pre-emptively.
"She's your sister." Clare stood, beckoning for him to follow her, "C'mon, vanilla, take me to a bed. Elizabeth, we're going to bed!" She picked up the grocery bag of Trojans and toothpaste as she went upstairs, she was out of sight when Tim caught the sweater she'd removed to throw at him, at the base of the stairs.
"Elizabeth, I'm locking my door. Pretend we're not here, no matter how much Mom texts you to interrupt my sex life," Tim cautioned, trailing after Clare.
"You know your girl answered the door with your Beretta?" Elizabeth stuck her head in from the kitchen.
Tim stifled his smirk before he turned to his sister, "Yeah?"
"Mom'll love her."
"I know. Wait until she meets the grandkids," Tim nodded before disappearing up the stairs.
"Children? Ew," Elizabeth shuddered delicately before settling on Tim's as-yet-unchristened couch and grabbing his remote.
Clare was naked but for her engagement ring when Tim came in. She pulled off his belt as he walked in and he set his badge and side-arms on his dresser, "You know what tomorrow is?"
"You're gonna say something other than Saturday aren't you?" Clare quipped, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his arms.
"I'm going to say 'my day off'," he quipped, pulling her legs around his waist and walking her to his bed before kicking off his shoes and jeans.
"So, we don't have to get out of bed, really?" Clare reached for the box on his nightstand.
"That's the plan," he agreed.
So, they didn't get out of bed.
A/N In my defense, I had no idea it would be this long when I started... thanks to those who've stuck with it!