itwasjustified | [[ oom : not lexington, kentucky ]]

Bill would love to point out that at least 80% of her calls are animal related, but holds his tongue.

He can't help the disbelief that enters his voice when he replies to her, though, and quickly tries to turn it into astonishment instead.

"A dead man? Well that... that is somethin'."

Again he looks towards the side of the house, and replaces his cap. Gesturing her back into the house, he's already ready to kick Pete or someone's ass if they've passed out in Mrs. Freeda's yard, of all places.

"Why don't you head on inside, Mrs. Freeda, an' I'll check it out."

"All right," Mrs. Freeda says, backing into the foyer. "While you do that, I'll just pour you out a glass of sweet tea."

Around the corner, Raylan is still unconscious, oblivious to Mrs. Freeda's orange tabby sniffing at his boots.

"I appreciate it, Mrs. Freeda, thank you."

Closing the door on her, Bill rounds the house to see who's out there.

He can tell it's not Pete straight off on his approach, but can't place the boots.

Going by the state of his clothes, whoever it is had one helluva night.

Toeing the prone figure in the thigh, Bill gives a short, two breath whistle.

"Hey, wake up now. C'mon."

It's when he doesn't get any response that Bill begins to worry that maybe Mrs. Freeda is right. When he realizes that all the mud the guy is covered in is too red to be dirt, Bill drops down to one knee beside him.

"Buddy, y'alright?"

Gripping the man by the shoulder Bill rolls him over; his jaw hits the ground when he gets a look at the face.

"Raylan?"

Fire blooms in his side.

Raylan sucks in a sharp breath, and expels a low groan.

"Shit."

His eyes crack open, but he can't focus on Bill for the glare of the sun.

Bill lifts his hand, belatedly realizing he probably shouldn't have moved Raylan.

"Christ, marshal, what're you doin' here? What the hell happened?"

Looking Raylan over, Bill's pretty sure Raylan needs to get looked at by someone.

Raylan swallows, and licks his lips.

If he could just dig the cotton out of his brain, and dislodge the mud between his thoughts, he'd be all set.

"Uh — "

He tries to lift his head, but nausea roils through him; he sags back against the ground, eyes shut.

"Lost and Found's still open. It's — "

His index finger twitches in what's supposed to be the general direction of safe haven.

Bill puts a steadying hand on Raylan, worry knotting Bill's gut.

"Now listen for a sec, Raylan, we gotta get you out of here, alright? Can you move?"

To go by the way the man looks, Bill's pretty sure Raylan can't.

"Yeah," he says, attempting to nod; blades of grass tickle the back of his neck, above his sweat-stained collar.

"But — "

He frowns, thinking.

"Jack. Need to find Jack, he was right behind me."

"Jack's here, too?"

Bill glances around, half expecting to find another body amongst Mrs. Freeda's marigolds.

"Let's work on gettin' you out of here, first, then we'll figure out the rest."

Raylan's not exactly his most lucid right now, and if they stay out here too long Mrs. Freeda is going to be back.

"C'mon."

Bill bends and offers Raylan his arm and shoulder to try and help the marshal to his feet.

Raylan sits up, sucking air through his teeth.

His vision swims and shimmers, but once he's standing, he gets a better look at Bill.

"Bill, what the hell ... "

He takes in their surroundings, and blinks dumbly at the cat perched on the trash can's lid.

Bill does his best to support Raylan, and waits a moment before moving to make sure Raylan's okay on his feet.

"I was hopin' you could tell me."

Giving the nosey cat a Look, Bill starts shuffling forward; taking most of Raylan's weight.

"My cruiser's parked up front."

"Cruiser," Raylan echoes, his voice spent and rough.

He puts one boot in front of the other, unable to mask a wince as they round the corner of the house.

It's so quiet, so sunny, and the air smells clean.

"Does this mean -- it's all over?"

Sparing a glance towards the house, Bill's relieved not to see Mrs. Freeda.

"Marshal, I really got no idea what you're talkin' about, but if we can get outta here we'll sort it out."

He pulls out his keys and works on getting the car unlocked.

"Shotgun, or y'wanna-- wanna-- stretch out in the back?" He stutters, struggling with the uncooperative remote a moment. "Piece of shit."

The car finally chirps and Bill waits on Raylan to decide which door Bill should open.

Raylan goes with shotgun, if only because it's a few precious steps closer than the back.

He lands in the front seat with as much grace as a fallen sack of flour.

Fumbling with the seat belt, he clicks it into place on the fourth attempt.

Making sure Raylan's set, Bill takes a step back and lets out a tired breath.

"Alright, just sit tight here a sec. I've gotta go take care of Mrs. Freeda. You picked a helluva yard to bed down in, she's been callin' all mornin' 'bout trespassers an' dead bodies."

Patting Raylan's shoulder, Bill shuts the door and heads back to Mrs. Freeda's door and knocks.

"Mrs. Freeda?"

"Just a minute!" she calls, her voice muffled.

When she opens the door, she has a glass of iced tea in hand.

"Did you call the coroner?"

Bill pulls off his cap and puts on a smile.

"I've got good news, Mrs. Freeda, it wasn't a dead body. The guy was just passed out, an' I'll be haulin' him in t'dry out."

"Hmmph."

She looks vaguely disappointed as she peers around Bill's shoulder, trying to get a good look inside the patrol car.

"I have to say, it's a sad state of affairs when a man'll drink himself flat into my flowerbeds."

Shaking her head, more to herself than anyone, she offers the iced tea to Bill.

"Now, that's for you, not that lout."

Bill shifts ever so slightly to block her view, and accepts the glass of tea.

"It sure is," he agrees, and gives a small 'tsk' to show he's in complete agreement with her.

"Thank you for the tea, ma'am, I promise he won't get a drop. I gotta get goin', but you have yourself a nice day, Mrs. Freeda."

"You be sure to give him a good talkin' to."

Her expression softens a modicum.

"And don't worry about that glass. I'll drop by the station sometime this week and pick it up. Drive safe, now."

"I will, Mrs. Freeda, thank you."

He puts his hat back on and tips it to her, then turns and heads back to the car.

Giving another wave over the top before he gets in, Bill slams the door and glances over at Raylan.

"How you doin'?"

Eyes closed, Raylan breathes a weak, stilted chuckle.

"Peachy keen."

"Good. An' I'm trustin' you, as one law enforcement member to another, who knows the kind of nightmare paperwork on an out of universe body would be, t'not die on me."

Bill starts up the car and pulls away from the curb; offering the glass full of gently clinking ice cubes across to Raylan.

"Want some sweet tea?"

Raylan reaches for the glass, his ribs screaming beneath the tape Doc had insisted on earlier.

"I was just about holding my own 'til those damn harpies," he says, and takes a slow, careful swallow.

Despite his best efforts, a few splotches of tea slosh onto the seat.

"Ah, shit," he mutters, brushing away the beads.

"Harpies?"

Bill makes a turn, and starts heading for home.

Pulling the radio from its holder, he glances over at Raylan and gives a distracted head shake.

"Don't worry 'bout it, you're no worse'n my deputies. Hang on a sec."

"Nancy? Hey, I got Mrs. Freeda taken care of. I'm gonna head home for a bit, uh, Kate called. Y'need anything check with Dave first, alright?"

"Nuttier than anything I saw in that space fight."

As he situates the tea in the nearby cup holder, his voice fades altogether.

He closes his eyes, barely listening to Bill's exchange or the background crackle of static.

The radio conversation doesn't take long, and only a few minutes after that Bill is pulling into his driveway.

A look next door tells Bill his neighbors are out, and the lack of ecstatic barking and slobbering is a sign the dog duo Fatso and Wally are somewhere else, too.

Rounding the car, Bill opens the passenger door and bends down to lean in.

"Raylan, we're here. C'mon."

The front door swings open to reveal Bill all but dragging someone into the house; Kate abandons her half-eaten lunch and the latest issue of The Economist.

She looks between Bill and his bedraggled cargo, concern narrowing her eyes.

"What — "

"Kate. You met marshal Raylan Givens?" Bill grates, moving towards the living room and couch.

The most reliable door he has to the bar is back in the bedroom, but Bill's sure both he and Raylan could use a pit stop. Especially with the way Raylan's breathing sounds, and the bitch fit Bill's shoulder is pitching.

Sitting the marshal down on the couch with a grunt, Bill straightens up and gives Kate a troubled look.

"He's from Milliways."

"I don't think we've met," Kate says, with a slight shake of her head.

She gives Raylan a worried once-over, already taking mental stock of the first-aid kit in the bathroom.

"How — "

Raylan's pinched face is a different shade of pale as he cradles his side.

"Sorry to drop by like this, ma'am," he says, once he gets his breath back.

"Not sure what happened, exactly; everything went sideways, and I wound up here."

"He was nappin' in Mrs. Freeda's side yard."

Bill takes a moment to catch his own breath.

"I figure I'll take you back out the door I got here, Raylan, an' we'll get you looked at in the infirmary."

"Doc took a look already," he says, his voice as thin as the air had become in the bar, just before he wound up here. "Fixed me up pretty good."

His head falls back against the couch, and even swallowing is an effort, right now.

"Everything's coming apart out there."

Bill exchanges another look with Kate, then steps in closer to Raylan.

"Raylan, I know you've been put through the wringer, I can see that plain, but I really need you t'tell me exactly what the hell is goin' on."

Raylan's trying to focus.

He really is.

But he's aching in so many places, even his hair hurts; his head may as well be full of stagnant water, with Bill's voice filtering through all blurred and echo-y; and the couch is so damn comfortable, he can't keep his eyes open.

He drifts, sailing far above a busy battlefield, with an endless supply of grenades and Diana's quiet encouragement in his ear. Somewhere, a beanpole cyclops in heels is singing.

"A mess, Bill," he mumbles. "Get in the Lost and — "

Found is on his tongue, but doesn't quite make it past his cracked lips before he gives in, sinking fast and hard.

“Shit.”

Bill realizes he's not going to get anything out of Raylan right now, and turns to Kate to try and figure out the situation.

They each try the closet door in the back, but neither of them finds Milliways on the other side.

With no help from the medical staff in the bar, they work on patching up Raylan as best they can.

He's beat up plenty, but nothing too serious that would require immediate medical attention, and the bandages he's already sporting are enough to show that he's been seen by someone already (presumably Doc, if that part of Raylan's mumbling was accurate).

It's a chore and a half, but Bill gets Raylan laid out on the bed in the guest room, and Kate sets to work cleaning and bandaging the wounds she can handle.

With the marshal resting comfortably, Bill reluctantly heads back to work; the uncertainty of what's going on in the bar, and just how Raylan ended up in Wheelsy, gnawing away at his mind.

[[ oom : not lexington, kentucky ]]

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