Every single inch of his body hurt in some way, but the pain in his badly broken right leg was a special kind of misery. Raylan stared down at the cast which shrouded his leg from thigh to toes and contemplated the decision that put him in this place.

Stupid… Stupid… Stupid.

He scowled at the white expanse of plaster. His toes poked out the other end, and he attempted to move them. Scrunched his eyes closed at the pain that ratcheted up several notches when he did.

Chasing Earl Biggs out onto the veranda of the old house had been a mistake. Especially as the squirrelly little thief stroke small time drug dealer for Boyd Crowder apparently knew exactly where all the rotten boards were. He'd skipped nimbly over the veranda where Raylan had gone crashing through.

He'd fallen about eight feet, and right away had known that it was bad. His right leg was bent at a very peculiar angle. In all the movies, the injured hero passes out in a manly sort of way while he waits for rescue. Raylan hadn't been that lucky. The pain was excruciating.

Of course it was Tim that found him. Tim who phoned for an ambulance, and then climbed down into the hole. Tim who sat next to him and held his hand, and allowed Raylan to squeeze the life out of his fingers whenever the pain got too much. Tim who stayed with Raylan every step of the way into hospital, who was there when they put him under to fix his leg, tib/fib and femur by the way, and his knee wasn't looking too good either.

Tim who was there when he woke up. No jokes, just a gentle kindness which made Raylan tear up in a way that Tim's usual default snarkiness probably wouldn't have.

Raylan waggled his toes, moaned at the pain, screwed his eyes shut in frustration and in the vain hope of holding back the tears which had been gathering for a while.

Crying in front of Tim, who was patiently sitting by Raylan's bed, was not a good thing. Givens' didn't cry, except when alone… at midnight… with the drapes closed.

Something flowed through his veins then, and it took him a second to realise that his fellow Marshal… his friend… had pushed the meds button that he'd been given for pain management.

Raylan's idea of pain management was to ignore it. So Tim was taking care of him. That thought brought more tears to Raylan's eyes. He had never really had a friend to care that much about him before.

"Get some sleep, Ray." The level calmness of Tim's voice was also something new.

Something in Raylan's addled brain liked that very much. Whatever was in the meds sure felt good, as he drifted away, a large calloused hand gently brushed his cheek. Raylan liked that too.

[][][][][][][][]

Tim Gutterson dropped into his chair and eyed the massive pile up of paperwork that had materialised in his in-tray while he was with Raylan at the hospital. Reports. Report on Biggs, report on Raylan's accident and injuries, report on health and safety assessment… Tim rolled his eyes. What the hell did they think was going to happen, that Marshals would have to stop chasing fugitives and wait for scaffolding to be built? Biggs had made it across that veranda okay, it was just Raylan's rotten luck that the boards gave way beneath him.

Reports wouldn't get signed off just by him staring at them. Tim reached out, heaved the first file onto his lap, slumped back in his chair and picked up his pen.

Two hours later, he'd added his reports to the files, taken copies, put his copies in his folder, and walked his files across to Rachel's desk. Art was out somewhere, and Rachel fixed him with an exasperated stare. "What?" Tim's shrug was the perfect picture of innocence.

Rachel picked up the files, and gestured towards Art's office. "He'll be back before quitting time, and I ain't signing off on you and Raylan's shenanigans."

"Marshal Raylan Givens?"

Both deputies looked up from their budding argument. "Who wants to know," said Tim. Wary, because the guy in front of him looked like a lawyer, and Tim's instincts were to protect his injured friend at all costs. Lawyers didn't mean anything good.

The lawyer was a small, lean man impeccably dressed in a neat dark suit which might have been blue or grey, with a crisp white shirt and some sort of shiny tie. "My name is Harrison Peregrine." He fished out a card, "this is a rather complicated matter, if you could have Mr Givens call me, he will learn something to his advantage."

Tim took the offered card, he wasn't about to give anything away just yet, but perhaps Raylan would get something out of this. He was trying to place the man's accent when a different voice cut in.

"Dude, I thought you said you would be just a minute."

Tim jumped out of his skin. Rachel' jaw dropped and she got to her feet, heading around her desk as though to get a better look at the newcomer.

"Mr Logan," Peregrine was saying, "We discussed this, and it was decided that it would be better if you remained in the car while I explained some of the more… awkward circumstances."

Logan grinned, a wide, toothy, utterly unconcerned grin and spread his hands wide. "I just wanted to see if it's true."

"What's true?" Tim was just trying to get his head around a second Raylan Givens, with a pony-tail and board shorts.

"Twins," Rachel looked stunned and sat on the edge of her desk. "Raylan has a twin."