Hello All! Again, muchas gracias for your reviews and PMs! I am beginning university again so I may not be able to update as frequently but do not fear, I will not forget this story. I'm so grateful that you guys have stuck with it and are enjoying it so please continue to R&R! Lots more angsty Tim in this chapter!

Sorry for any errors, I don't have a beta!

Disclaimer: I am not in any way affiliated with FX or Justified in any way. My work and my thoughts are mine alone, however in this chapter, I have used some of the original script.

G was glad she'd filed away a memory of Tim from last night because it was clear that the soft, funny version of him was long gone. In his place was an even moodier, snarkier, Monday-morning blues Tim. It was clear he hadn't slept well but he was exuding an unprecedented level of hostility, especially to her. She offered to buy him coffee and he gave her such a look of disdain that she actually had to step back from the force of it.

Art had also noticed the attitude and the Chief Deputy was not up for any sass this morning. His gastric reflux had given him ten shades of hell over the weekend and he was nursing a warm cup of honeyed tea – something Lesley was making him drink in the hopes of settling his stomach. Suffice to say, it was not working.

'Tim.' He beckoned the young man into his office, unsurprised to see the stormy pout and drawn together eyebrows of 'angry, sleep deprived Tim'.

'Why don't you have a seat, son? Tell mama what ails you.' Art couldn't help but prod the bull a little. Where was the fun in his job otherwise?

Tim snarled and stomped his army regulation boot against the doorframe. 'Just put me on prisoner transport, Art.' Tim sounded in no mood for banter.

'Come now, kid. Nothing sarcastic to retort?' Tim rolled his eyes and Art could see the well-defined muscles in his jaw jump frustratedly. Art sighed. 'Alright fine, prisoner transport.' Some of the tension in Tim's shoulders eased.

'For the week.' Art had to say, he was amused by the absolute horror that dawned on Deputy Gutterson's face.

'Art! What the fu–'

'Tim, ya just said you wanted it.' Art grinned smugly and put his feet up on his desk, leaning back contentedly.

'For the goddamn day, not the fu-'

'Language, Tim.' Tim growled and turned on his heel.

'Shut the door behind ya.' Art began, but Tim was already gone, huffing to his desk to grab his jacket and baseball cap and then towards the exit, probably cussing the whole way. Art watched, entertained until Tim rudely swept past G who looked like she was carrying her body weight in coffee cups. Normally Tim, despite the sarcasm, was very well behaved. He was the kind of guy who held doors open at least. Today he was in such a mood that G almost collapsed as he rushed past her, not sparing her a glance at all. That was also weird because Art thought for sure Tim liked G, she was a pretty girl after all. Maybe something was really wrong with him? Maybe query PTSD? was turning into a full-blown PTSD attack. Maybe he shouldn't have sent Tim out on his own, should have been more considerate when calling him into his office.

Art pulled out his cell phone and slipped on the glasses that were hanging round his neck. Art wasn't good with this technology stuff and despite his daughter's best attempts, his texting was loathsomely slow. By the time he'd finished tapping away with one finger, G had entered, set down a cup of decaf and left.

If you need to talk, you know where I am.

Art waited for a reply that never came.

Tim's day passed in a blur. People, places, things all melded into one. Every sound however, was amplified. Cars braking, traffic news, the prison guard asking him to fill out the 9000th form of the hour, looking at him like he was an idiot because everything was so loud that he couldn't hone in on the guard's voice.

After the last drop off, Tim sat in his SUV for ten minutes, maybe an hour, what did it matter, time was relative, and tried to meditate. His therapist, the one the army had made him see, told him meditation could help still the furore in his head. So far it hadn't worked. Maybe Tim hadn't tried hard enough. Whatever. He was trying now.

He sat with his hands in his lap, breathing in for four and out for four and trying desperately to clear the sights and sounds and smells that were infiltrating his fragile mind. The dream last night had really shaken him up. Now all he could see was Leila. Everything reminded him of her. A shop sign the colour of her hair, the prison receptionist's floral perfume, G…especially G. She'd brushed past him this morning with a warm smile and the offer of coffee and Tim's stomach roiled, threatening to empty it's contents as he remembered Leila's smile seconds before she'd died.

This meditating shit was doing fuck all. He was just reflecting, wallowing in his emotions. The latest to surface was guilt that he was avoiding G but today he just had to get away from her. That's why he'd requested prison transport, why he pretended not to see her hurt expression as he all but pushed her out of the way as he fled the office.

Tim pressed his fingers against his eyes as the sound of a truck horn jarred his skull. He wanted to tell G why, wanted to make her see that it wasn't her, it was him. But she wouldn't understand and after the way he'd treated her, she probably wouldn't care. Tim was good at pushing people away, she may as well get used to it now.

Hours later, Tim was face down in a bar opposite his apartment when his phone rang. He ignored it. It rang again three times before the bartender, Tim's good friend Joe, answered it for him.

'This is Gutterson at the House of Very Inebriated. I'm not available to take your call but if you'd like to leave – oh. Well, yes sir, I'll put him on now…'

Joe thumped Tim upside the head so hard he almost fell off his stool.

'Jesus FUCK, Joe! What the fuck was that –'

'Your boss, asshole.' Tim blanched, which was a feat considering he was pretty pale anyway. He hesitantly took the phone and steeled himself before speaking.

'Art…what can I do for you at this sociable hour?'

'House of Inebriated huh?' Tim could hear the smile in Art's voice and he rolled his eyes out of reflex. 'I understand you're probably occupied, but I'm in need of some assistance. The big dude at the Veterans bar says we can't go in without, well, a veteran.' Tim smirked. It was rare that Art asked for his help.

'What do you want to go into the VFW for?' Tim drawled, downing the pint of water Joe had set out before him. He nodded his thanks and the bartender refilled it.

'There's a Givens who wants to see a Givens.'

Tim 'oh'd' and said he'd be there pronto.

'Tim, you best get someone else to drive you.'

'Will do, Chief.'

'Tim, did you drive here?' Art's incredulous voice sounded from the parking lot where Tim had just pulled up. G eyed him warily as he dismounted his truck and sashayed towards them, all swinging hips and easy grin in his casual red checked flannel shirt and low slung jeans.

'Does everyone in this state drink and drive?' She questioned Raylan, who was leaning against the railing, staring down the VFW bouncer.

'Pretty much.' He smirked at her expression. 'Guess they don't in DC.'

G snorted in response.

'You drunk Tim?' Raylan called.

'Gettin' there.' He countered before he saw G and froze. He'd been expecting just the Chief and Raylan, and then he'd expected another drink once he got inside. She was the last thing he expected to see. He waited for Leila's face to pop up, but surprisingly, she stayed buried in his memory. Obviously the bourbon had helped with this. All he saw was G's doe eyes, full of concern for his drunk-driving and her lovely figure caressed in tight black skinnies and fitted blazer jacket. Alcohol fuelled lust pooled in his stomach as he zeroed in on her, forgetting for a second that there were three witnesses to his unashamed staring. Luckily his instincts kicked in and he forced himself to concentrate on the situation at hand. No one appeared to have noticed his glazed eyes, or if they had, they put it down to drink.

'No admission, huh? Did you try flirting?' Tim pulled back his easy smirk as he came up with a characteristically witty comment.

'He was immune to my charms.' Raylan smirked back, pushing off the wall and coming to stand next to G who smiled despite herself.

'Said "heroes only".' Art chimed.

'Oh, ok. You show them your ass wound?' He heard G chuckle and reflexively looked at her. She was so pretty when she smiled, white teeth flashing brightly. Feeling a lot more confident now, he gave her a quick wink before looking back to Art. He didn't notice the surprise in G's eyes or the way she bit her lip.

'Well, I didn't think it was that kind of evening.'

'Isn't it always that kind of evening in these parts?' G raised an eyebrow mockingly. At Harlan or at them, Tim didn't know.

'Now now, no need to be judgmental. We are a cultured people.' Tim smirked at G as he responded to her comment, pleased to see her smirk back, pleased that she held eye contact for a second more than was strictly necessary.

'Well, shall we?' Art prodded. Tim dug his military ID out of his back pocket, glad he always kept it on him for these times of need.

'Evenin' soldier. Uh, I didn't bring my cape. I'm guessing this will suffice.'

They entered the VFW to G's laughter and Tim felt his chest swell a little that he had caused that beautiful sound.