"He's a lot less cranky here than he is at home," Leslie teased, relief palpable now that her husband had regained consciousness.

The usual crew had gathered around to welcome the injured Chief back to alertness as soon as they'd received the call saying he was stirring. Rachel stood to his left, beaming with happiness as Tim and Jo hovered alongside her, the former with an arm casually draped across her shoulder in contentment, more familiarity than the couple usually allowed in mixed company.

"Well, you should just get a morphine drip for home," Tim suggested, and everyone in the room shared a laugh.

For all the bad they dwelled in, it was nice to share a small moment of peace and enjoyment, no matter how short a time it lasted. "Think I could sneak some for this one?" Jo joked, elbowing Tim in the ribs and receiving an affronted look in turn. "Maybe it would help with his brooding."

"I don't brood," he argued with a furrowed brow that betrayed him, but any further complaints were interrupted when the missing piece finally joined their party.

"Hey, Raylan," Leslie greeted warmly while he moved to stand at the foot of Art's hospital bed. "He woke up last night."

It was like serendipity, the Chief finding his way back to the land of the living just as his assailant exited it. Wendy had shot Darryl and saved them all the effort. One bullet to the balls for framing Kendal and a second in the neck for the hell he'd dragged them through over the years. The deed was done, and they could all share a collective sigh in ease.

The senior Marshal smiled as he took in the scene, even if his elation was tapered in the face of his pseudo father figures' recovery. "They treating you all right?"

"Don't even have to get up to piss," Art announced, his left hand firmly in his wife's clasp, his gold wedding band gleaming in the fluorescent lights despite the skin underneath continuing to lack its usual color.

Several pairs of eyes strayed reflexively to the thankfully empty bag dangling from his bed, but no one was willing to comment further on it. "Well, don't get too comfortable," Tim taunted in warning; they'd expect him back in the office sooner rather than later.

"Not likely," Art denied with eyes closed. He was putting up a good front for his captivated audience, but he was undoubtedly still hurting underneath the brave face.

"Well, we promised Leslie we wouldn't wear him out," Rachel disrupted the half-hearted back and forth, his exhausted features indicating they'd overstayed their welcome.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Chief," Tim guaranteed as they collected their things, Jo falling into line beside him.

"Catch up with you later," Raylan nodded in parting as his coworkers and family passed to leave.

They were almost gone before Rachel turned back for one last departing sentiment. "Loving your parking space, by the way," she halted in the doorway to add.

"You stay out of that," Art droned sarcastically with what little energy he had remaining.

Spirits were raised as the threesome took their leave. Tim kept Jo under his arm until they reached the parking lot, saying goodbye to Rachel before climbing into his SUV.

He turned the key in the ignition but waited to put the car in drive. "What you got?"

It was like the levees broke, and all the water came rushing through at once. "I've got so much dirt, you have no idea," she began babbling quickly. It'd taken all her willpower to keep quiet until they were alone, and she couldn't help rounding on him in excitement once they were. "First, Raylan's transfer went through. He's headed back to Florida."

"Is that a good thing?" Tim questioned, finally shifting into gear and pulling out of the space. "I thought you still weren't sure about it?"

Jo scoffed at the question because she'd buried the lead. "It hardly matters," she exclaimed to his confused profile. "They're pursuing Boyd under RICO, and he's definitely not going anywhere without seeing that through."

No way he'd allow someone else to finish what he'd started, claim the win after all the effort he'd put in. They were like two sides of the same combative coin, except Raylan faced up towards justice, and Boyd's tail was firmly down in the seedy underworld of disorganized crime.

There was a beat of stunned silence as the miles flew past, until the quiet cracked with Tim's baffled timber. "Who the hell told you all that?"

It was probably annoying, how she knew more about the inner workings of his office than she had any right–certainly more than he was privy to. "A bit from Rachel, some from Dan and Vasquez," she explained indifferently. "I have a face that elicits secrets."

"Yeah, you know how to keep them too," he insinuated with a pointed look at her from his periphery, one that had Jo rolling her eyes.

"You thought now was the best time to tell them?" She asked with an indignant tsk at his discontent. "Might've stolen some of Art's thunder if we had."

For all Tim's trained patience, he was awfully restless and demanding when it came to everything between them. Any request to hurry up and wait was met with unrepressed frustration, and this would prove the same.

Removing his right hand from the steering wheel, he dug through his chest pocket in search until his knuckles clasped around what he'd been fishing for. "Put it back on," he instructed with finality, thrusting the ring at her with an open palm. "And don't take it off again."

Alberto and his cartel friends were all dead, along with Darryl Crowe Jr., Boyd's safety ensured as an unwelcome side effect of the day's chaos.

Tim was exhausted and more than a little angry he'd been played twice in one day by two different Harlan County residents. The fatigue made his steps heavy as he climbed the drive to their front door, dimmed lights behind drawn curtains telling him Jo was still awake.

As he expected, she was hunched over on the couch while she reviewed case files on the coffee table, a half-drank glass of whiskey dangling between her pointer finger and thumb. "Get it all sorted?" She inquired as the lock clicked into place behind him, not bothering to look up from the paperwork before her.

"Yeah," he groaned pitifully as he stripped off his jacket, muscles aching from both the car crash and sitting too long in another vehicle thereafter. "The Crowes, the Mexicans, they won't be a problem anymore."

"That's good," she remarked without surprise, marking something in the margins before finally setting her pen and drink aside. "How're you feeling?"

He'd taken to unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up as she looked on, anything to relieve the surmounting tension throughout his entire body. "Like a marching band is going off in my head," he admitted shamelessly.

"I might be able to help with that," Jo suggested, scooting to the left of the sofa and patting the now vacant spot next to her, indicating he should join.

When he did, bare legs were thrown over to straddle his lap, not enough for their hips to settle together in a way that would cause each to blush, but enough where she could rest back on his strong thighs and peer down at him. Tim seized the opportunity to grope beneath the hem of her shirt, vying for purchase across the smooth expanse of back he found. "It's better already," he quipped, all manner of weariness gone in the blink of an eye.

She chucked at the statement but shook her head nonetheless. "Not really where I was going with this," Jo admonished lightly, her index fingers wandering across the ridge where his nose and eyebrows met, earning a hiss of mixed pain and pleasure when she applied a firm pressure there. "Too much?"

He remained still within her clutches, but his lips pursed in denial. "No, keep going," he insisted as the sharpening became centralized before a blissful numbing spread from his skull and throughout his torso.

After a few more seconds of prolonged oppression, her massaging moved on to repeat the motion in the rigid crease that always sat between his eyes, pulling the groove taut and flattened. "Is it working?" She asked, all attention trained on his pale skin, each pore and wrinkle a topographical map of his life.

"Almost too fucking well," Tim swore, his hold unconsciously tightening to draw her closer to his trembling frame. Only when her thumbs dug into a spot between his shoulder point and neck did he realize some reciprocation was needed.

Trailing his fingers from the small of her back, Jo cursed when the gentle caresses were lost as his hand dipped below the waistband of her shorts, stroking her with a tempered insistence. "I'm trying to focus," she panted, movements briefly faltering as her chest arched to meet him.

"So am I," he simpered, shortened exhales dancing across her shaking clavicle as his middle and forefinger increased their speed along her heat.

The hitch in breath was telling, her pent-up worry and his amplified frustration making their actions rushed, amplifying each ministration in the wake of another close call.

It didn't take much before she fell. His touch moving her underwear aside to intrude with two curling fingers, his open mouth sucking just below her ear, had Jo clenching and shuddering above him as his persistent hold kept her steady and flush against him.

"I was supposed to be making you feel better," she whined past a heaving inhale, her figure having fallen lax against his as the waves of euphoria slowly subsided.

"I'm perfectly fine," he reassured with a self-satisfied smirk because every hint of a headache had been obliterated under her tender hands, peppering kisses along her rouged cheeks, nose, and temple until their lips finally met.

She moaned into his assertive mouth, a probing tongue allowing him to taste the whiskey still lingering on her breath, the air around them heavy with deliverance as her knuckles fisted into his short blonde hair and tugged. Except when she adjusted to unbuckle his belt, Tim moved away. "What, what's wrong?" She questioned, alarmed by the sudden shift.

"Nothing. There's just something I've gotta do first," he soothed, carefully depositing her back on the couch cushions and taking a moment to revel in her tousled hair and post glow. "I'll be right back."

The irritated huff followed him into the bedroom, and a pleased laugh echoed back at her, Jo using the time to right her clothing and throw her hair into a messy bun that would conceal some of the damage.

She was sitting cross-legged when he returned, appearing more than a little miffed at the abrupt pause in their intentions, eying him suspiciously when he kicked the coffee table out of the way, knocking more than a few of her papers to the floor in the process. "What're you doing?"

"Hush," he compelled, dropping on bent knees before her. "I don't want Rachel to be my first point of contact, not anymore. And if maybe is the best I'm gonna get, then–"He withdrew the velvet box she'd found but had been too chicken shit to open from behind his back, offering it to her like a prize she'd won at the fair. "Marry me, Jolene. It ain't gotta be today or tomorrow, but sometime," he implored, somewhere between a request, demand, and plea.

Doubtless, her eyes were wide as dinner plates from the unexpectedness of it all. One minute they were fumbling around in rushed intimacy, and the next, he was proposing eternity like it was no big deal. The juxtaposition was enough to make her head spin, which it was. "You're sure about this?" She croaked in uncertainty, her vision remaining fixed on him and not the diamond attempting to catch the light and her attention. "You've thought this through?"

"Haven't stopped thinking about it," he said with an unwavering confidence. "This is what I want. I think it's what you want, too, unless you tell me otherwise."

She almost wanted to cry at the restraint he was willing to show solely for her benefit. Leaving a window open for her to climb out even as he closed the door on other prospects for himself. He could do better, and Jo knew that. He could have another woman who wasn't as defiant or secluded, but she was too selfish to grant him that now. "Yes," she whispered as though the word, if spoken too loud, could shatter everything between them.

"What was that? I don't think I heard you," he persisted with false ignorance. "You're gonna have to speak up."

"I said fucking yes. Don't make me take it back," she pouted loudly at his jesting. "You're such a–"

Whatever insult was likely to follow was muted as Tim surged forward to claim his fiancé's lips once more.