18. Aftermath

Jo's presence was requested in Art Mullen's office the next day. The whole situation was strangely reminiscent of being called to the principal's office in school. She had no doubt of what the Chief Deputy wished to speak with her about. By now, Tim's impressive shiner and Raylan's surlier than usual attitude had to have drawn some unwanted attention.

"Hey, Art," Jo greeted wearily from the doorway. It felt like she was fixing to be lectured by a concerned father, not that her real father had ever bothered with such a thing. Deep in her gut, Jo worried the older man was going to tell her he wasn't mad at her, just disappointed in her.

"Close that door, would you?" Art requested from behind his desk.

Jo shut it slowly, biding her time before settling in the seat across from him uncomfortably.

The Chief's hands came up to rub his balding head in contemplation as he appraised her through a frown. Jo fidgeted nervously under his watchful eyes.

"You know, I like you, Jo, but I can't have you stirring up trouble in my Marshal's office." His assessment was fair and had her head bowing in guilt.

"I wasn't intentionally trying to cause problems," she muttered quietly. It was true. Jo would have preferred if her situation with Tim had never come to light, but it was too late to put that particular genie back in its bottle. Now, she'd have to traverse awkward conversations such as this one while trying to figure out what this new development actually meant for their burgeoning relationship.

Art released a heavy sigh and crossed his arms over the top of the big wooden desk, acting as a barrier between them. His stare never ceased in its analytical nature. "I know you weren't, but if it comes down to it, I'm gonna have to let Raylan go. I prefer you and Gutterson to him, anyway," he admitted. Finally, he dropped the severe act, and the pair shared a chuckle at Raylan's expense. Jo visibly relaxed in her seat, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

"Come on, Chief. You and I both know there's no one else willing to take Raylan," she teased back. Art's eyes traveled over her head, through the glass wall, and towards the Marshal in question.

"You're probably right. Guess we're both stuck with him," he agreed, albeit begrudgingly. A silence fell over the office while they each pondered their predicament.

Jo wondered if she was supposed to assure him that her association with Tim wouldn't interfere with Marshal business, regardless of the outcome. Meanwhile, Art considered if this was the appropriate time to bestow some fatherly advice to the younger woman. Both options were uncomfortable at best, so they remained at a muted standstill.

Art broke the reverie first, standing from his desk to approach the door. Easing it open, he called for Raylan to join them with a gesturing finger. While he made his way into the office, Art busied himself with the act of pouring three shots of bourbon. If he'd learned anything from his time with the Givens boy, it was that alcohol seemed to ease painful conversations. He had to assume the same applied in Jo's case.

Raylan and Jo hadn't spoken to one another since the former had stormed out of her home the night before. Thus, she wasn't surprised when he chose to linger by the door rather than claiming the seat next to hers. In fact, he didn't look too pleased with the prospect of sharing a room with her at all, if his stiff posture was anything to go by.

When Art dolled out the glasses, Raylan threw his back hastily, wincing as the amber liquid burned his throat. "What do you need, Art?" He asked a measure too aggressively for someone speaking to their boss. The Chief Deputy scoffed at the insolent tone, while Jo simply rolled her eyes at his ever childish behavior.

"I need you two to talk like the grown adults you are," Art said poignantly, before finishing his drink. "I'm gonna leave now, and I expect this issue to be resolved by the time I get back." He grabbed some files off his desk and exited the room without another word. Leaving them alone for the first time since their blowup.

Neither said anything for a good while. Instead, they sulked in their anger, eyes trained at everything in the room aside from each other.

Jo was the first to fold under the pressure of the stilted silence. "I didn't rob a bank or set fire to an orphanage, so why don't you drop the attitude, Raylan." It probably wasn't the best conversation starter, in retrospect, but he'd taken the whole protective sibling act a step too far the night before.

Raylan didn't immediately explode at her assertion, which was surprising. He simply just rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. "You're grown, Jo, you're welcome to do whatever you like," he stated. That seemed too easy though, and so she watched him hesitantly from her seat, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "But do you have to do it with my partner?" There it was. If Jo were messing around with some random civilian, they wouldn't be having this conversation, but since her proclivities hit closer to home, suddenly, it was an issue.

"It's not like I knew he was going to be your partner," Jo defended her actions. She hadn't been banking on Raylan returning to Kentucky, well, ever, and she honestly hadn't planned on keeping Tim around that long either. Neither of those realities seemed to matter much now, though.

Raylan chuckled humorlessly, before grabbing her untouched drink from the desk, and guzzling it quickly. "Yet, you chose not to tell me," he accused with a pointed finger.

Jo only offered a noncommittal shrug at his allegation. "Was there an appropriate time for me to say: 'Hey, Raylan. Sometimes Tim and I hook up. Just thought you'd like to know.'" Raylan noticeably winced at the observation. Apparently, envisioning the private activities of his adoptive sister and coworker wasn't ideal for him. "I'm so sorry I missed the opportunity," she mocked.

It wasn't like either of them could change what had already been done. They just needed to move past these unfortunate circumstances and on with their lives. "It's really not that serious. We don't need to treat it like it is." Jo offered them both the easy out, silently begging Raylan to take it. Of course, he didn't.

"Does he know that?"

Jo was confused on who exactly he was referring to, her face scrunching in uncertainty. "What?"

"Tim, does he know it's not that serious?" Raylan clarified, watching the man in question through the glass wall.

Jo turned in her seat to appraise the other Marshal as well. Tim sat at his desk, idly typing away at his computer. He appeared busy, but every so often his eyes would shift to his periphery and explore the closed office. Obviously interested in what Raylan, Jo, and previously Art, could be discussing a mere fifteen feet away.

She suddenly wished she'd finished her bourbon before Raylan could get his grubby hands on it. "If he's smart, he'll know," she grumbled, turning away from watching the topic of their conversation.

Raylan smiled sardonically at her declaration and shook his head. "Yeah, but women can make a man dumb. Just, try to keep it so I don't have to shoot him, alright? It's more paperwork each time," he concluded. Well, it wasn't exactly a go-ahead or even an apology for his earlier behavior, but it was a subtle olive branch they were both willing to accept.

"If it comes down to it, I'll kill him myself," Jo promised, chuckling as Art reentered the office.

Seeing the two speaking, and more visibly relaxed, the Chief Deputy smirked to himself proudly, and announced that it was time for them to get out of his office. They didn't have to be told twice, and Jo hightailed it out of there behind Raylan.

She knew Tim would be trailing after her towards the elevator without even needing to chance a glance over her shoulder. The anticipation of knowing what went down in Art's office must have been killing him. So, just to be difficult, Jo hooked a right and took the stairs instead.

"Goddammit," she heard him groan under his breath some paces behind, and it made her snicker.

Weaving her way through numerous office workers, judges, law enforcement, and lawyers, Jo managed to evade Tim in the crowd until she reached the parking lot, where he finally caught up with her.

"Was that really necessary?" He asked in indignation as they stood next to her vehicle.

Twiddling with her keys in hand, she merely grinned at him mischievously and offered, "I quite enjoyed the thought of you chasing after me." Her confession only earned her a glare and an agitated growl in return.

"What did Art want?" He asked, bypassing her sarcastic comment, and proceeding to the subject he actually wanted to discuss.

"To talk about you," Jo answered shortly, offering no elaboration.

"And Raylan?" He pressed further.

"Also, you," she replied just as briefly. Each time she sidestepped his inquiry, that wrinkle between his brows grew deeper and deeper. Jo thought it was funny to rile him up intentionally. Just to see how long till Tim could tolerate it no further.

"You know, I once watched a target for three days in a shitty little village outside Kandahar. Yet, you somehow require more patience," he commented in agitation. His confession made she feel the tiniest bit guilty; she'd managed to be more annoying than his duties as a sniper.

"Fine," she eventually caved. "Art was ensuring you and Raylan weren't gonna kill each other defending my honor. Raylan just wanted to know if he'd have to shoot you now or in the near future. I sorted them both out, so you're in the clear, Gutterson."

Her reassurance elicited a relieved sigh from the Marshal in front of her. "Well, there's that," he acknowledged, "but where does that leave us?" There was that million-dollar question again. Jo had had plenty of time to consider the options but still hadn't settled on a definitive answer.

Tim was perfectly decent, never asking too much nor trying too hard. Her issues with intimacy, with commitment, were entirely her own, and she'd avoided dealing with them this long. What could a little longer hurt?

"I don't know. It's lost some of the risqué appeal, no longer being a secret and all," she mused half-jokingly.

He pinned her down with a hard stare, not entirely sure if she were jesting or trying in earnest to brush him off. "Great," he huffed, ready to leave Jo and her insufferable trenchancy behind in the parking lot.

Seeing Tim visibly disengage from the conversation, from her, just made Jo feel ashamed of her inability to emote like a well adjusted human being. Everything between them either had to revert to thinly veiled sarcasm or passive apathy. She didn't have many other settings to shift between because anything else was either too vulnerable and too discomfiting.

She figured now was the time to give him something substantial, lest this particular fish jump off the line completely. Catching his wrist, Jo gently tugged Tim towards her, till their chests brushed against one another. She floundered for a moment in her next move, but carefully raised on the tips of her toes to brush a soft kiss upon his lips. She'd only meant it to be a light peck. After all, they were still in the parking lot outside their place of business, but Tim obviously had other ideas in mind.

Weaving his hand into the hair at the back of her neck, he pulled her in again for a harsher kiss. One that left her weak in the knees, and had Jo clutching to his jacket for some semblance of support. When he finally drew back, the dazed look in her eyes had him smirking smugly.

She registered his self-satisfied grin through her hazy mind and pushed him away from her defiantly. "PDA, really? Gross," she grumbled, making a show of wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve.

Tim chuckled, despite her act of disgust. "And you said it couldn't be risqué without it being a secret," he announced proudly, before heading back inside.

Jo watched him go, a slight smile creeping onto her now swollen lips.

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