"Never thought I'd live to see the day," Raylan drawled, a teasing smirk pulling at the sides of his mouth, brightening his rugged features.

Jo unceremoniously dropped the heavy box she'd been carrying to the floor, only considering in retrospect that it might have contained something fragile. Nevertheless, after wiping the sweat from her brow, she had set the cowboy hat-wearing Marshal with an unamused stare. "Don't start with me, Raylan," she warned.

The man in question chuckled before throwing an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side. "You're all grown up now, Jolene," he leaned in closer to whisper his jest, as though speaking truth to a secret only they shared.

She shrugged him off her in irritation. "This is why I told Tim we should've just hired movers. Wouldn't have to deal with your mocking then," she griped with hands on her hips.

Raylan remained unbothered by her apparent agitation. In fact, he reveled in it, cherishing the rare opportunity to mock her endlessly. After all, it wasn't every day that your emotionally inept adopted sibling entered into a long-term commitment. "When's the wedding? Should I expect to become an uncle in the near future?" He continued to poke fun at her expense.

She huffed and pushed past him, ensuring she knocked his shoulder none too gently on her way. "Why don't you worry about the kid you've been avoiding, instead of planning for any of mine," she quipped before strutting back out the front door.

After Raylan had given the all-clear, meaning Nicky Augustine and his threats had been handled, everything fell into place quickly. Perhaps, a bit too quickly for Jo's liking, but she'd chosen to humor Tim when he'd found a house he felt suited them. And, though she remained hesitant with every forward step they took, she felt indulging him was the very least she could do.

So, there was a moving truck sat parked in the driveway of the four-bedroom home she and Tim now shared.

Meanwhile, Raylan was being wholly unhelpful in getting them moved in.

"The fuck are y'all doing?" Tim questioned, finding Jo's hands decidedly empty while Raylan trailed behind her, hands buried deep in his pockets, looking smug.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed another box from the truck to appear busy. "Raylan's running his damn mouth," she tattled, throwing a nod in the guilty man's direction.

Raylan pretended to be offended at the accusation. "I was merely informing Jo of how proud we all are at the maturity she's been exhibiting lately," he expressed with feigned innocence, while still looking too self-satisfied for their liking.

Having heard enough, she ambled back towards the house with full arms and not another word. However, she didn't make a quick enough escape to avoid overhearing the fellow Marshals discuss her further.

Tim sighed loudly in resignation. "Come on, man. You know she's skittish as a stray dog," he tried to reason with his senior partner. "Just lay off."

I'm done having you jerk me around like a dog on a chain, rang back through her mind like a lingering echo.

Jo sucked her teeth and halted, turning back towards the pair. "Tim, if you make one more canine comparison, I'm going to show you the true meaning of the phrase dog house," she threatened before spinning back around and heading inside.

She wasn't a stray dog. If anything, Jo was elusive, like a cat.

In the entryway, she was met with Rachel Brooks coming down the stairs. "This house is awfully nice," the female Marshal complimented, her southern accent dripping smooth like honey.

"If you say so," Jo shrugged indifferently. Aesthetics and materialism had never been of real interest to her, given how little she'd grown up with. You can take the girl out of Harlan, but you can't take Harlan out of the girl, or however the saying went.

Rachel followed in tow as she continued on into the kitchen. "Seems you've got some extra rooms too," the dark-skinned woman's voice trailed off in suggestion.

This observation had Jo groaning in indignation. "Oh god. Not you too," she whined, dropping the second box as haphazardously as she had the first. "If another one of y'all makes an insinuation about children, I'm dumping him. Imagine how moody Tim'll be then," she cautioned without any real intent behind her crass words.

"You don't want kids?" Rachel continued to press, leaning a hip against the countertop. She refused to drop the topic despite the other woman's obvious resistance.

Jo distracted herself with unpacking a box of plates, discarding them onto the selves of previously barren cabinets. "It hasn't come up, and rightly so. Lord knows he's lucky to have even gotten me this far."

It was undeniably true. If it hadn't been for Tim's sniper training which granted him an unlimited amount of patience and profound sense of fidelity, things would have gone up in smoke ages ago.

Although, it hadn't been for a lack of trying on Jo's part. His persistence had just won out over her boneheaded stubbornness.

The conversation was thankfully cut short by the interruption of Art Mullen. The Chief's intrusion wasn't an unwelcome one, seeing as he came bearing a bottle of Macallan. "Just a little house warming present," he announced, offering the cask of amber liquid to her.

"See, this is why I like him best," she directed her comment at Rachel. "Art comes bearing gifts, not taunts. Good man."

Rachel chuckled with a closed-mouth smile, raising her hands in surrender. "I was just making conversation."

Jo set her with a doubtful look. "Sure you were. Regardless, let's crack this bottle open and toast properly. There's got to be glasses around here somewhere." She set about rummaging through closed boxes to find some proper glassware.

"What taunts are we talking about?" The Chief whispered to his subordinate, still loud enough for Jo to make out across the room.

Rachel turned her back to Jo in a show of privacy that did nothing to isolate their conversation in the desolate kitchen. "Just suggesting that some of these rooms may need filling," she answered as though the suggestion were sinless.

Art's reaction was instantaneous. "Oh hell no," the older man barked in opposition. "Jo, you can't go gettin' pregnant until after I retire. My heart can't handle the both of them," he asserted, waving a warning finger in her direction.

She turned and pulled a face of distaste. If her hands weren't laden with five tumblers, she would have waved a hand in frustration. "Can everyone just get off my ass?" She'd about had it with the Spanish Inquisition, especially when no one was doing what they'd actually come there to do.

The worst perpetrator decided to grace the trio with his presence. Again, looking unbothered while carrying nothing. "Oh good. We've got alcohol," Raylan commented as if he'd done anything to earn such a treat.

"Utterly useless," Jo grumbled but proceeded to pour a shot into each glass, finishing in time to pass Tim his portion when he joined them.

Art raised his glass, and the group followed suit. "A toast, to the happy couple," he announced with a congenial grin.

The fivesome clinked their rims together in celebration, the tune ringing through the room.

"And to future happy announcements," Raylan added before downing his drink in one go.

Of course, he had to fucking ruin it with his smart mouth. However, only Jo seemed bothered by his implication because everyone else chuckled heartily at her torment.

"Bunch of assholes you brought with you," she remarked to Tim, who shrugged his shoulders passively before placing a kiss to her forehead.

"Free labor ain't cheap."