YNLH: The Cracks in Our Foundations for teh_bug
Recipient: teh_bug
Title: The Cracks in Our Foundations
Author: Afiakate
Characters Tim, Rachel, with appearances by Art and Raylan and a couple of ragtag OCs. Bonus mention of Judge Reardon.
Pairings: Rachel/Tim
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3,046
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Two curse words and minimal violence herein
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: Title is from Kate Nash’s song “Foundations.” Thank you to nemo_r for the excellent beta, the mod for running such an excellent fic exchange and all the other participants for making this such a fun fandom. teh_bug, I hope you enjoy!
Summary: Tim and Rachel look for a fugitive, while Tim looks for something more.
Tim has come to the stake-out prepared. In the cooler between their seats there is a packet of string cheese, three apples, a candy bar, two navel oranges, jerky, and a handful of roma tomatoes that he will eat in two bites a-piece. There’s also soda tucked into the cooler and an empty mason jar. Rachel takes one look at the jar and tells him “Not in the van.”
Rachel brought two cups of coffee and unsalted nuts. She turns down his offer of string cheese and jerky but takes him up on the orange. Just to be polite he takes some of her unsalted nuts. Jolene’s bungalow, which they are watching, is like the neighborhood they are parked in: it has seen better days. The electric company, however, must have trimmed the trees recently, because even from a block away they have a clear view of the front porch. They have been parked there for three hours, and Tim can’t help noticing how preternaturally still Rachel is.
“Stop staring at me.” Her lips hardly move.
“Who’s staring at you, Deputy Bighead?”
A piece of orange peel bounces off the side of his head. Tim smiles.
XxX
Earlier that day
He lets her steal his last few French fries, without a word of complaint. If Raylan notices he doesn’t say anything. She scrapes the bacon from her sandwich on to his plate and takes another French fry. Tim looks up and this time catches Raylan giving Rachel a rueful look.
“I don’t get it,” he says. “Rachel, why’d you order the BLT if you didn’t plan on eating the best part?”
Without looking up, Rachel arches an eyebrow and lifts a slice of bread, displaying her rearranged sandwich. “I do plan on eating it -I just wanted the one slice. I knew Tim would take care of the rest.”
“So Tim is your garbage disposal?”
“Something like that.”
“You’ve been working with each other too long.” A subtle flush creeps across Tim’s cheeks. Rachel, however, merely bites into her sandwich, ignoring him. Smirking, Raylan takes a huge mouthful of his chicken dinner. They’re eating at a diner a block from the courthouse. If they hadn’t snuck out for a lunch break while Art was distracted, they’d never have gotten a breather from the paperwork and warrant reports. It had been a quiet week and with annual reviews coming up Art had wanted to make sure that the office was in full compliance, and that none of his marshals were sitting on overdue paperwork. This meant that his anxious tendencies had been switched into overdrive and no one could so much as sneeze without receiving a baleful glare that seemed to say “now what?!”
When their waitress - a harried looking young woman with gray eyes and a swinging gait- comes by their table again Rachel takes the opportunity to order Art a reuben, hoping the sandwich will mollify him.
Art is waiting for them when they walk through the doors. His expression is a mix of exasperation and tempered excitement.
“We’ve got two confirmed sightings on Fagan. He’s here, back in Lexington.”
Raylan looks up from where he had settled himself at his desk. “Who’s Fagan?”
“Lee Anthony Fagan is a small-time criminal who graduated to the big time when he swung his Mazda into a telephone poll.” Rachel pauses in her telling to allow the ghost of a smile to flit across her face. “The poll, in turn, then fell on two parked LPD cruisers. Fagan’s vehicle caught fire, and so did one of the cruisers. The police then found one pound of cocaine and two guns hidden in his car, along with the trapped body of his girlfriend; her pelvis and leg had been broken in the crash, and she had a serious concussion. Fagan was captured less than a block away, limping, bleeding and high.”
Tim picks up where Rachel stopped. “His girlfriend survived and had even agreed to testify against him - apparently being abandoned in a wrecked, blazing car clarified some things about his character.”
“County deputies were handling the transfer between the hospital and jail when he escaped. We got called in to help with the search, but surprisingly we couldn’t find a trace. The boy was useless at everything but running.”
Art unfolds his arms with the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Deputy Gurnah was coordinating the search efforts at the time, but as the good deputy marshal is no longer with us, I’m assigning Rachel and Tim to this.” Gurnah had taken a leave of absence which had turned permanent when his affair with Judge Reardon’s second wife became public knowledge.
Art hands them the case file. “Fagan’s mother has passed, so I’d start with the girlfriend, see if she’s had any contact with him, see what she knows.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Tim corrects as he took the file.
“Whatever. What’s in the bag?”
Rachel extends her arm, handing him the forgotten sandwich. “A reuben.”
“Very good. Well, get to work my little deputies.”
Raylan watches Tim and Rachel make their way into the conference room, with Tim performing an awkward shuffle to open the door for Rachel, after she had already grabbed the handle.
“Damn.” Raylan re-settles his hat on his head and sets his sights on his mountain of paperwork. Tim has a mountain of his own to climb, but it’s got nothing to do with paperwork and everything to do with a certain fellow marshal.
XxX
In the conference room, Rachel lays out the contents of the file. Tim snags the ex-girlfriend’s photo and holds it up.
“She looks familiar.”
Rachel, however, is ahead of him. “That’s because she’s our waitress from Quincy’s.”
“Jolene Isaacson. She should be 25 now. Looks like she never got far from Lexington.”
So back to the diner they go, finding the waitress sitting at a table, reading a paperback and having her own meal now that the lunch rush was over.
“Jolene Isaacson?”
She glances up from her book and straightens. There’s the initial glimmer of recognition - she remembers them from lunch - before she sees the Marshal’s stars and recognizes them as law enforcement. “Have you found him? Found Tony?”
She rides with them back to the courthouse where Tim and Rachel interview her. No, she has not seen Lee Anthony Fagan since the accident. No, she hasn’t heard from him or had any communication with him.
“Except…” Jolene’s voice trails off, and her eyes appear uncertain for the first time in their meeting.
“What?” Tim asks.
“I got a postcard, two weeks back. It was of the Horse Park. It just said ‘I remember everything.’ It wasn’t signed or nothing.”
“And you think it was from Fagan?” At Jolene’s nod, Rachel asks her what she thought it meant.
“Before, before the accident, I was working as a groom at the Park.” She shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve always loved horses but I never had the money for one of my own, so I’ve always just found folks who’d let me ride in exchange for work. I eventually worked my way up to the Horse Park.” She smiles; her work at the park is a happy memory, Tim thinks.
“Tony, sometimes he’d come and pick me up in the evenings and we’d mess around in the hay barn.” She blushes, but continues. “Anyway, the card confused me. I haven’t been back there since the accident. I thought it might have been from one of my old co-workers.”
“You didn’t recognize Fagan’s handwriting?” Rachel’s gaze is keen.
“He wasn’t really the sort to leave me love letters.”
“And you’re sure you haven’t spoken to him since the accident?” Rachel asks, her eyes piercing. Jolene’s blush deepens and her eyes cast downward, the laminate table top suddenly enthralling. “Lying to an officer of the law is a crime, Jolene.” Rachel is closing in on Jolene, and Tim sits back, mesmerized by her careful pushing of the young woman. Watching Rachel work an interview is like watching a hawk circling its prey: each move is measured and precise, nothing rushed or sloppy.
Jolene looks up. “Yes, I spoke to him once after the accident. We were in the same hospital, you know, just on different floors.” She pauses, collecting herself. “When I was strong enough to be moved to a wheelchair I talked one of the orderliness into taking me to his room. There was a guard posted outside it, but he must have taken pity on me and he let me in to talk to Tony.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I was a real mess, I guess the guard just took pity on me and -“
“No, what was so important that you had to talk to him then? Were you making plans for his escape, or to meet up after it?”
“No!” Jolene seems truly animated for the first time. “No way. I was furious with him!” She slaps one hand on the table. “He left me! He just left me there, trapped in that burning car.” Her skinny face is pinched and her jaw is tight.
“Ok, so what did you talk about?”
“I told him I’d told the police everything I knew. I didn’t hardly know a thing, but everything I knew about the drugs and the guns, I told him I told the cops. I told Tony I’d happily testify against him, I told him he was a coward and I hated him and he could rot in prison, for all I cared! I told Tony I couldn’t wait to face him in the court room, watch him get hauled off to jail.” She’s spent now and her mouth snaps close with a finality that Tim can appreciate.
“So Fagan knew about your plans to testify?” Rachel is leaning forward, her pen poised. Tim takes in her bright eyes and feels a small tug in his stomach. It’s a pull he has felt where she is concerned for months now; it’s simply getting harder to ignore.
“Yeah,” Jolene straightens, a grim set to her lips. She looks older, used. “I told him what he had done was shameful, leaving me there like that. I told him I didn’t know what the hell I’d ever been doing with him. I told him he made me sick.”
Tim glances at the report from LPD and the prosecutor’s office from two years back. Jolene had known - or purported to have known - almost nothing of any value regarding Fagan’s more nefarious dealings.
“What did you tell Fagan you knew about his business?”
“I said I knew all about who he was buying from and selling to. I told him I knew who he was moving the guns for.”
“But did you really?” Rachel is probing, unwilling to let Jolene evade. She’s after something, Tim thinks, but he’s unsure of where she is going with this line of questioning. She’s so often unreadable to him, even after their time together.
Jolene shrugs. “I knew that there was a lot I didn’t know, but I told him I knew about Frankfort. “
Both Rachel and Tim lean forward as if pulled by an invisible thread. “What about Frankfort? There’s nothing about it in your original statement to the police.” Tim has been content to watch Rachel work Jolene but he can’t stop himself from blurting out the question that is on both their minds.
“Yeah, because I was just shitting Tony! I didn’t know a thing about it. I just knew that he went there a lot. But he was always going somewhere, Louisville or Frankfort or Cincy. It was just the first place that came to mind.”
They leave Jolene to update Art. He listens to them recount their discussion with her before asking “What’s your read on Ms. Isaacson?”
“I think she’s telling the truth,” Tim states. Rachel nods. “She doesn’t seem to have any warm feelings towards him at all, and she’s been very honest about aspects of their relationship that would give some people pause.”
Art stares at them both for a moment eyebrows raised. “It sounds like Fagan may think Jolene knows more than she actually does. Any ideas as to why our Mr. Fagan is getting in touch now, and showing his face around Lexington?”
“None. She didn’t seem to have any idea as to why, either.”
“If Fagan mentioned to his Dixie Mafia pals that she was aware of their… business relationship, she may be in trouble.”
“I’ve thought that, too. I think it would be a good idea to establish a watch outside Ms. Isaacson’s home and work, in case Fagan - or the Dixie Mafia - decide to pay her a visit.”
Art smiles at his favorite deputy, then looks to Tim. “Well, you heard the lady. We haven’t had a proper stake out around here in, oh…”Art makes a show of scratching at his five o’clock shadow as he thinks, “at least two months! This will be fun for you two. Rachel, if you take care of the arranging the van, I’ll contact Kessler at LPD. They should know about this.”
XxX
At one a.m., Tim shifts. Rachel has finished the last of her coffee and has resumed her study in stillness.
Tim wants a milkshake, and says so. “I could go for some French fries, too.”
“Do you ever stop eating, Tim?” Her words are sharp, but her eyes are soft.
“Not if I can help it.”
Tim would also like to lean in and cradle her face in his hands and kiss her, but he wisely keeps that to himself. He’s unsure about a lot of things when it comes to Rachel, but is positive that she shares none of his interest in anything more beyond their collegial work relationship.
The minutes tick by and tug on Tim’s attention. As a sniper, he learned to be absolutely still for however long it took to accomplish the job. As a marshal, on a stake-out, he finds it distinctly difficult to sit and stare at Jolene’s small house. And not to stare at his colleague. He decides it is time for another snack and is just about to grab a string cheese when he spots movement on the periphery of Jolene’s yard.
“Is that -“
“Yep, that’s Fagan,” Rachel replies as she steps lithely from the van and begins sprinting towards the house. Tim is on her heels in an instant, speaking into his radio to request back-up from LPD, and watches as the figure moves towards the back of the house, eventually disappearing. Rachel nods to him, and they split up, with Rachel running around the back of the house.
Tim bangs on the door, declaring himself a marshal, calling out Jolene’s name, and telling her to open the door. When no response comes, he kicks in the door, the weak wood groaning and splintering after only a few kicks. He checks the small foyer and front room, calling out Rachel’s name.
“Here! In the kitchen!”
Her voice is like a siren’s call to him, and Tim races towards where he thinks the kitchen is. The scene he finds is not what he expects, at all.
Lee Anthony Fagan is sprawled on the floor, with a bloody nose. Jolene is standing over him, the end of a baseball bat pressed to his throat. Jolene is at the other end of that bat, in her pajamas, her hair tumbling around her face, and she has such a look of ferocity that Tim is momentarily concerned for Fagan’s safety. Rachel has her gun drawn and is commanding Jolene to step away.
“That’s the last time I take any crap from you, Tony!” Jolene is righteously pissed off, practically spitting at him, but Tim has no trouble getting the bat from her hands. Rachel calls for EMTs to check out Fagan, calls Art to update him, and briefs the LPD officers when they arrive minutes later.
Tim takes a moment to survey the scene. Fagan is handcuffed and groaning on the floor, begging Jolene to listen to him. Jolene is sitting at her kitchen table, a determined set to her mouth, saying nothing. And Rachel is standing across the kitchen, giving a report to the LPD lieutenant. She must feel his eyes on her because she looks at Tim then, and gives him a small, swift smile. The smile seems to slip across her lips, appearing and then disappearing just as quickly.
XxX
It is six a.m. before they’re sitting across from Fagan in an interview room at the Lexington Police Station. His nose is swollen and he cuts a pathetic figure. He’s already admitted to working for the Dixie Mafia out of Frankfort when the questioning turns to his reasons for returning to Lexington.
“Why now, Fagan?” Rachel asks.
“I came back to turn myself in.”
“Right.” Tim can’t keep the doubt from his voice.
“I did, man! You got to believe me. Running, looking over your shoulder all the damn time, that’s no life.”
“Then why did we find you in Jolene Isaacson’s house?”
“I came to warn her before I turned myself in; if she testifies it won’t just hurt me, it’ll hurt her! I love her” at Rachel’s skeptical look, he continues desperately “I do! I love her, I’ve never forgotten about her. I can’t! I’ve always felt her eyes on me. I knew that if she testified she’d be a target too, and I just…I couldn’t stand for nothing to happen to her.”
Tim can’t decide if Fagan is telling the truth, but the desperation in his voice is sincere.
They leave Fagan in the jailhouse cells, holding their silence until they are alone in the elevator.
Tim sags against the wall. “What a mess.”
“Yeah, but it’s not our mess anymore. Let the courts figure it out.”
She steps towards him then and touches his face so briefly it’s like her fingers were never there at all. A smile curls her lips and lights her eyes. “Come on, Tim. I’ll buy you that milkshake.”
It’s not everything he wants, but it’s a step in that direction, and for now it’s enough.
-END-
Prompt: Tim Gutterson/Rachel Brooks - “He'll put you in the gutter, son.” Tim is sarcastic, Rachel is unshakable, get them together somehow.
Title: The Cracks in Our Foundations
Author: Afiakate
Characters Tim, Rachel, with appearances by Art and Raylan and a couple of ragtag OCs. Bonus mention of Judge Reardon.
Pairings: Rachel/Tim
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3,046
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Two curse words and minimal violence herein
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: Title is from Kate Nash’s song “Foundations.” Thank you to nemo_r for the excellent beta, the mod for running such an excellent fic exchange and all the other participants for making this such a fun fandom. teh_bug, I hope you enjoy!
Summary: Tim and Rachel look for a fugitive, while Tim looks for something more.
Tim has come to the stake-out prepared. In the cooler between their seats there is a packet of string cheese, three apples, a candy bar, two navel oranges, jerky, and a handful of roma tomatoes that he will eat in two bites a-piece. There’s also soda tucked into the cooler and an empty mason jar. Rachel takes one look at the jar and tells him “Not in the van.”
Rachel brought two cups of coffee and unsalted nuts. She turns down his offer of string cheese and jerky but takes him up on the orange. Just to be polite he takes some of her unsalted nuts. Jolene’s bungalow, which they are watching, is like the neighborhood they are parked in: it has seen better days. The electric company, however, must have trimmed the trees recently, because even from a block away they have a clear view of the front porch. They have been parked there for three hours, and Tim can’t help noticing how preternaturally still Rachel is.
“Stop staring at me.” Her lips hardly move.
“Who’s staring at you, Deputy Bighead?”
A piece of orange peel bounces off the side of his head. Tim smiles.
XxX
Earlier that day
He lets her steal his last few French fries, without a word of complaint. If Raylan notices he doesn’t say anything. She scrapes the bacon from her sandwich on to his plate and takes another French fry. Tim looks up and this time catches Raylan giving Rachel a rueful look.
“I don’t get it,” he says. “Rachel, why’d you order the BLT if you didn’t plan on eating the best part?”
Without looking up, Rachel arches an eyebrow and lifts a slice of bread, displaying her rearranged sandwich. “I do plan on eating it -I just wanted the one slice. I knew Tim would take care of the rest.”
“So Tim is your garbage disposal?”
“Something like that.”
“You’ve been working with each other too long.” A subtle flush creeps across Tim’s cheeks. Rachel, however, merely bites into her sandwich, ignoring him. Smirking, Raylan takes a huge mouthful of his chicken dinner. They’re eating at a diner a block from the courthouse. If they hadn’t snuck out for a lunch break while Art was distracted, they’d never have gotten a breather from the paperwork and warrant reports. It had been a quiet week and with annual reviews coming up Art had wanted to make sure that the office was in full compliance, and that none of his marshals were sitting on overdue paperwork. This meant that his anxious tendencies had been switched into overdrive and no one could so much as sneeze without receiving a baleful glare that seemed to say “now what?!”
When their waitress - a harried looking young woman with gray eyes and a swinging gait- comes by their table again Rachel takes the opportunity to order Art a reuben, hoping the sandwich will mollify him.
Art is waiting for them when they walk through the doors. His expression is a mix of exasperation and tempered excitement.
“We’ve got two confirmed sightings on Fagan. He’s here, back in Lexington.”
Raylan looks up from where he had settled himself at his desk. “Who’s Fagan?”
“Lee Anthony Fagan is a small-time criminal who graduated to the big time when he swung his Mazda into a telephone poll.” Rachel pauses in her telling to allow the ghost of a smile to flit across her face. “The poll, in turn, then fell on two parked LPD cruisers. Fagan’s vehicle caught fire, and so did one of the cruisers. The police then found one pound of cocaine and two guns hidden in his car, along with the trapped body of his girlfriend; her pelvis and leg had been broken in the crash, and she had a serious concussion. Fagan was captured less than a block away, limping, bleeding and high.”
Tim picks up where Rachel stopped. “His girlfriend survived and had even agreed to testify against him - apparently being abandoned in a wrecked, blazing car clarified some things about his character.”
“County deputies were handling the transfer between the hospital and jail when he escaped. We got called in to help with the search, but surprisingly we couldn’t find a trace. The boy was useless at everything but running.”
Art unfolds his arms with the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Deputy Gurnah was coordinating the search efforts at the time, but as the good deputy marshal is no longer with us, I’m assigning Rachel and Tim to this.” Gurnah had taken a leave of absence which had turned permanent when his affair with Judge Reardon’s second wife became public knowledge.
Art hands them the case file. “Fagan’s mother has passed, so I’d start with the girlfriend, see if she’s had any contact with him, see what she knows.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Tim corrects as he took the file.
“Whatever. What’s in the bag?”
Rachel extends her arm, handing him the forgotten sandwich. “A reuben.”
“Very good. Well, get to work my little deputies.”
Raylan watches Tim and Rachel make their way into the conference room, with Tim performing an awkward shuffle to open the door for Rachel, after she had already grabbed the handle.
“Damn.” Raylan re-settles his hat on his head and sets his sights on his mountain of paperwork. Tim has a mountain of his own to climb, but it’s got nothing to do with paperwork and everything to do with a certain fellow marshal.
XxX
In the conference room, Rachel lays out the contents of the file. Tim snags the ex-girlfriend’s photo and holds it up.
“She looks familiar.”
Rachel, however, is ahead of him. “That’s because she’s our waitress from Quincy’s.”
“Jolene Isaacson. She should be 25 now. Looks like she never got far from Lexington.”
So back to the diner they go, finding the waitress sitting at a table, reading a paperback and having her own meal now that the lunch rush was over.
“Jolene Isaacson?”
She glances up from her book and straightens. There’s the initial glimmer of recognition - she remembers them from lunch - before she sees the Marshal’s stars and recognizes them as law enforcement. “Have you found him? Found Tony?”
She rides with them back to the courthouse where Tim and Rachel interview her. No, she has not seen Lee Anthony Fagan since the accident. No, she hasn’t heard from him or had any communication with him.
“Except…” Jolene’s voice trails off, and her eyes appear uncertain for the first time in their meeting.
“What?” Tim asks.
“I got a postcard, two weeks back. It was of the Horse Park. It just said ‘I remember everything.’ It wasn’t signed or nothing.”
“And you think it was from Fagan?” At Jolene’s nod, Rachel asks her what she thought it meant.
“Before, before the accident, I was working as a groom at the Park.” She shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve always loved horses but I never had the money for one of my own, so I’ve always just found folks who’d let me ride in exchange for work. I eventually worked my way up to the Horse Park.” She smiles; her work at the park is a happy memory, Tim thinks.
“Tony, sometimes he’d come and pick me up in the evenings and we’d mess around in the hay barn.” She blushes, but continues. “Anyway, the card confused me. I haven’t been back there since the accident. I thought it might have been from one of my old co-workers.”
“You didn’t recognize Fagan’s handwriting?” Rachel’s gaze is keen.
“He wasn’t really the sort to leave me love letters.”
“And you’re sure you haven’t spoken to him since the accident?” Rachel asks, her eyes piercing. Jolene’s blush deepens and her eyes cast downward, the laminate table top suddenly enthralling. “Lying to an officer of the law is a crime, Jolene.” Rachel is closing in on Jolene, and Tim sits back, mesmerized by her careful pushing of the young woman. Watching Rachel work an interview is like watching a hawk circling its prey: each move is measured and precise, nothing rushed or sloppy.
Jolene looks up. “Yes, I spoke to him once after the accident. We were in the same hospital, you know, just on different floors.” She pauses, collecting herself. “When I was strong enough to be moved to a wheelchair I talked one of the orderliness into taking me to his room. There was a guard posted outside it, but he must have taken pity on me and he let me in to talk to Tony.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I was a real mess, I guess the guard just took pity on me and -“
“No, what was so important that you had to talk to him then? Were you making plans for his escape, or to meet up after it?”
“No!” Jolene seems truly animated for the first time. “No way. I was furious with him!” She slaps one hand on the table. “He left me! He just left me there, trapped in that burning car.” Her skinny face is pinched and her jaw is tight.
“Ok, so what did you talk about?”
“I told him I’d told the police everything I knew. I didn’t hardly know a thing, but everything I knew about the drugs and the guns, I told him I told the cops. I told Tony I’d happily testify against him, I told him he was a coward and I hated him and he could rot in prison, for all I cared! I told Tony I couldn’t wait to face him in the court room, watch him get hauled off to jail.” She’s spent now and her mouth snaps close with a finality that Tim can appreciate.
“So Fagan knew about your plans to testify?” Rachel is leaning forward, her pen poised. Tim takes in her bright eyes and feels a small tug in his stomach. It’s a pull he has felt where she is concerned for months now; it’s simply getting harder to ignore.
“Yeah,” Jolene straightens, a grim set to her lips. She looks older, used. “I told him what he had done was shameful, leaving me there like that. I told him I didn’t know what the hell I’d ever been doing with him. I told him he made me sick.”
Tim glances at the report from LPD and the prosecutor’s office from two years back. Jolene had known - or purported to have known - almost nothing of any value regarding Fagan’s more nefarious dealings.
“What did you tell Fagan you knew about his business?”
“I said I knew all about who he was buying from and selling to. I told him I knew who he was moving the guns for.”
“But did you really?” Rachel is probing, unwilling to let Jolene evade. She’s after something, Tim thinks, but he’s unsure of where she is going with this line of questioning. She’s so often unreadable to him, even after their time together.
Jolene shrugs. “I knew that there was a lot I didn’t know, but I told him I knew about Frankfort. “
Both Rachel and Tim lean forward as if pulled by an invisible thread. “What about Frankfort? There’s nothing about it in your original statement to the police.” Tim has been content to watch Rachel work Jolene but he can’t stop himself from blurting out the question that is on both their minds.
“Yeah, because I was just shitting Tony! I didn’t know a thing about it. I just knew that he went there a lot. But he was always going somewhere, Louisville or Frankfort or Cincy. It was just the first place that came to mind.”
They leave Jolene to update Art. He listens to them recount their discussion with her before asking “What’s your read on Ms. Isaacson?”
“I think she’s telling the truth,” Tim states. Rachel nods. “She doesn’t seem to have any warm feelings towards him at all, and she’s been very honest about aspects of their relationship that would give some people pause.”
Art stares at them both for a moment eyebrows raised. “It sounds like Fagan may think Jolene knows more than she actually does. Any ideas as to why our Mr. Fagan is getting in touch now, and showing his face around Lexington?”
“None. She didn’t seem to have any idea as to why, either.”
“If Fagan mentioned to his Dixie Mafia pals that she was aware of their… business relationship, she may be in trouble.”
“I’ve thought that, too. I think it would be a good idea to establish a watch outside Ms. Isaacson’s home and work, in case Fagan - or the Dixie Mafia - decide to pay her a visit.”
Art smiles at his favorite deputy, then looks to Tim. “Well, you heard the lady. We haven’t had a proper stake out around here in, oh…”Art makes a show of scratching at his five o’clock shadow as he thinks, “at least two months! This will be fun for you two. Rachel, if you take care of the arranging the van, I’ll contact Kessler at LPD. They should know about this.”
XxX
At one a.m., Tim shifts. Rachel has finished the last of her coffee and has resumed her study in stillness.
Tim wants a milkshake, and says so. “I could go for some French fries, too.”
“Do you ever stop eating, Tim?” Her words are sharp, but her eyes are soft.
“Not if I can help it.”
Tim would also like to lean in and cradle her face in his hands and kiss her, but he wisely keeps that to himself. He’s unsure about a lot of things when it comes to Rachel, but is positive that she shares none of his interest in anything more beyond their collegial work relationship.
The minutes tick by and tug on Tim’s attention. As a sniper, he learned to be absolutely still for however long it took to accomplish the job. As a marshal, on a stake-out, he finds it distinctly difficult to sit and stare at Jolene’s small house. And not to stare at his colleague. He decides it is time for another snack and is just about to grab a string cheese when he spots movement on the periphery of Jolene’s yard.
“Is that -“
“Yep, that’s Fagan,” Rachel replies as she steps lithely from the van and begins sprinting towards the house. Tim is on her heels in an instant, speaking into his radio to request back-up from LPD, and watches as the figure moves towards the back of the house, eventually disappearing. Rachel nods to him, and they split up, with Rachel running around the back of the house.
Tim bangs on the door, declaring himself a marshal, calling out Jolene’s name, and telling her to open the door. When no response comes, he kicks in the door, the weak wood groaning and splintering after only a few kicks. He checks the small foyer and front room, calling out Rachel’s name.
“Here! In the kitchen!”
Her voice is like a siren’s call to him, and Tim races towards where he thinks the kitchen is. The scene he finds is not what he expects, at all.
Lee Anthony Fagan is sprawled on the floor, with a bloody nose. Jolene is standing over him, the end of a baseball bat pressed to his throat. Jolene is at the other end of that bat, in her pajamas, her hair tumbling around her face, and she has such a look of ferocity that Tim is momentarily concerned for Fagan’s safety. Rachel has her gun drawn and is commanding Jolene to step away.
“That’s the last time I take any crap from you, Tony!” Jolene is righteously pissed off, practically spitting at him, but Tim has no trouble getting the bat from her hands. Rachel calls for EMTs to check out Fagan, calls Art to update him, and briefs the LPD officers when they arrive minutes later.
Tim takes a moment to survey the scene. Fagan is handcuffed and groaning on the floor, begging Jolene to listen to him. Jolene is sitting at her kitchen table, a determined set to her mouth, saying nothing. And Rachel is standing across the kitchen, giving a report to the LPD lieutenant. She must feel his eyes on her because she looks at Tim then, and gives him a small, swift smile. The smile seems to slip across her lips, appearing and then disappearing just as quickly.
XxX
It is six a.m. before they’re sitting across from Fagan in an interview room at the Lexington Police Station. His nose is swollen and he cuts a pathetic figure. He’s already admitted to working for the Dixie Mafia out of Frankfort when the questioning turns to his reasons for returning to Lexington.
“Why now, Fagan?” Rachel asks.
“I came back to turn myself in.”
“Right.” Tim can’t keep the doubt from his voice.
“I did, man! You got to believe me. Running, looking over your shoulder all the damn time, that’s no life.”
“Then why did we find you in Jolene Isaacson’s house?”
“I came to warn her before I turned myself in; if she testifies it won’t just hurt me, it’ll hurt her! I love her” at Rachel’s skeptical look, he continues desperately “I do! I love her, I’ve never forgotten about her. I can’t! I’ve always felt her eyes on me. I knew that if she testified she’d be a target too, and I just…I couldn’t stand for nothing to happen to her.”
Tim can’t decide if Fagan is telling the truth, but the desperation in his voice is sincere.
They leave Fagan in the jailhouse cells, holding their silence until they are alone in the elevator.
Tim sags against the wall. “What a mess.”
“Yeah, but it’s not our mess anymore. Let the courts figure it out.”
She steps towards him then and touches his face so briefly it’s like her fingers were never there at all. A smile curls her lips and lights her eyes. “Come on, Tim. I’ll buy you that milkshake.”
It’s not everything he wants, but it’s a step in that direction, and for now it’s enough.
-END-
Prompt: Tim Gutterson/Rachel Brooks - “He'll put you in the gutter, son.” Tim is sarcastic, Rachel is unshakable, get them together somehow.