Gavin drug the outlaw into an open cell by the collar of his jacket, pulling him roughly through the threshold even as the fugitive stumbled and barely managed to catch himself on the door to keep from hitting the floor. The deputy threw the Kid forward, sending him into the far wall of the cell where he hit with a dull thump and let himself sag down the concrete surface, a smudged crimson stain smearing down the stone wall in his wake.

The Kid caught himself before his body could crumple, bracing a hand against the wall and leaning heavily as he forced his legs to straighten and brought his head up to glare at the deputy. Blood ran from his nose in a steady stream, splattering over his lips where it joined a second stream seeping from a cut gouged into the pink flesh to drip down off his chin and stain the floor beneath him where he wavered. A colorful bruise blossomed around one eye and another marred the freckled ridge of his left cheek, turning pale skin into a portrait of twilight purple and black night.

The outlaw glared haughtily at Gavin and pulled himself up a bit higher, stumbling back into the wall before catching himself and forcing unsteady legs to stand. The deputy sneered back at the boy as if he were something disgusting left out to rot, cruel disdain painted across his face with unadulterated fury blazing like wildfire in his coffee eyes. Grant was seriously worried he might have to go in and pull the man out the cell before he went at the outlaw again.

After a moment, however, Gavin stepped back and slammed the cell door shut behind him, turning away from the fugitive with one final spit in his direction. He stalked away from the bars, stalking over to where Grant stood watching, unsure of what he thought, let alone what to say. Sure, he’d been after the Kid for years, he’d chased him miles, through wind and through rain but this… this.

The outlaw let himself sag into a heap the moment Gavin turned away, a wheezing breath that ended in a bloody cough wrenching through his lips. The Kid wiped the ruby droplet away from his lips with a groan, inspecting his hand with a dismal look before letting it drop to his side and letting his head loll after it soon after.

“Found him sneaking around my place just before dawn.” Gavin informed flatly, voice devoid of anything save for cold disinterest and the barest hint of disgust. The man sneered back at the captive with merciless disdain before pushing past Grant and heading for the front door, wiping at a busted lip as he went.

Grant thought he might have responded but he didn’t really know for sure; if he did, he sure didn’t know what the hell he’d said. He supposed he should be pleased about this. They’d caught the notorious murderer who’d terrorized this land for years. He should be happy. He should.

“Well, sheriff, guess you’re happy to see me behind bars, eh?” The Kid commented lightly after a few moments, echoing Grant’s own thoughts with a slight smile. The expression looked absolutely ridiculous with blood still smeared over his dimpled cheeks. Fucking ridiculous.

“Yep.” Grant deadpanned on instinct but his chopped voice didn’t sound convincing to even his own ears. The man forced himself to walk behind his desk and take a seat, striving for some sense of normalcy, some familiarity, just something - anything - that made sense.

This didn’t make sense.

He should be happy.

He wasn’t.

“Is Silver okay?” The outlaw asked after a long breath of silence, voice smaller for a moment, nervous almost. He brought his hands together in front of him and looked hard at his fingers as he waited for an answer, the non-busted side of his lower lip drawn between his teeth to roll gently about while the toe of his left boot tapped noisily into the stone floor of the cell in a fast, shaky rhythm. Definitely nervous.

“He’s-” Grant answered stiffly then forced himself to loosen up with a heavy sigh. He was overthinking things. “He’s fine, Kid. You asked me to watch out for him and I said I would, didn’t I?” The man reminded, sounding more irritated than he actually was; but when he glanced back at the outlaw, he was met with warm caramel eyes boring into him with glowing, unguarded relief and suddenly found himself swallowing his own tongue.

“I really am grateful, Sheriff.” The boy breathed softly, his body sagging a bit as if it’d had been held together by that lingering anxiety alone. However, the outlaw’s gaze soon flicked behind the sheriff and his cocky smirk returned full force, mischief illuminating his caramel eyes with its electric blaze once more. “I really am beautiful, aren’t I?” The Kid swooned arrogantly, batting his long lashes for full effect as Grant turned to see what had brought about this declaration and was met by a crude sketch of the boy seated a few paces from him, big blocky letters reading The Kid printed under the drawing with a bounty pasted just under that. Whew, that was a lot of zeros.

“Oh yeah, you’re just gorgeous.” Grant agreed in a dry snort, rolling his eyes for full effect as he turned back around to give the outlaw the most deadpanned look he could muster. All he received for his effort, however, was a flattered smile and even the barest hint of pink blush dusting its way over bruised cheeks. Jesus, fuck him.

“I’m sure the bruising really bring out my eyes.” The Kid threw back easily, though the smallest smille still played at his busted lips and he glanced away almost as if made shy by Grant’s comment.

A shy, blushing, pretty boy of an outlaw. That was going to be what finally fell the great Grant Carson. Jesus Christ.

“Why do y’all call me that anyway?” The fugitive questioned, letting his gaze flick back to the poster. “The Kid. I’m in my thirties, you know.” The boy pointed out perturbedly, a little pout playing against his lips that was most certainly not, in any way at all, cute.

“Bullshit.” Grant snorted disbelievingly, giving the Kid a good once over. His face was too soft. His full cheeks flushed pretty pink with youth and his coffee eyes shone with a bright, mischievous light too young to be tainted by the harshness the world. Twenty two at most.

“Thirty three and counting.” The Kid revealed with a wiry smile, amusement glimmering in youthful orbs.

“No shit?” Grant asked wonderingly, still not quite convinced but the pleased, almost cocky, smile he received in response held no denial.

After a moment, the Kid placed a hand against the wall and slowly began the tedious process of standing up, his halting, clumsy movements a far cry from the fluid grace that had helped him elude Grant time and again. The outlaw let himself lean against the wall, shoulder sagging against concrete as he drug himself up onto unsteady legs and stumbled a few paces towards the long wooden bench running against the vertical wall of the cell. His steps were uneven, his left leg dragging behind and buckling each time he put a bit of weight on it but he made it to the bench nevertheless and let himself fall in its general direction rather than actually stumble the last few remaining paces.

“Your deputy’s a real ass, you know.” The Kid spat bitterly, catching himself against the bench and pulling his body atop it with a last grunt of effort. Finally he flopped his butt onto the wooden surface and drug his right leg up to lay out beside him, knee bent and arm rested atop it - He might’ve appeared almost casual had he not looked like the poster child for death.

“Well, most people don’t react to well to finding outlaws creeping around their property in the wee hours of the morning.” Grant huffed dismissively but he couldn’t deny the persistent, pushed aside voice in his mind that whispered that the Kid might have a point. “What were you thinking, anyway - Breaking into a lawman’s house?” The sheriff questioned exasperatedly, even though he told himself he didn’t really care. He’d wanted the outlaw caught, hadn’t he?

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” The Kid dodged but there was an edge to his voice, something sharp and cynical that whispered of some unspoken poison behind the words.

“Alright then.” Grant finished with an awkward stiffness, shifting about before snapping out a hand to pluck some random paper up off his desk. A complaint about missing earrings. Great. Super important, he best get right on that.

“Hey.” The Kid suddenly prompted after a few long moments, drawing Grant’s attention away from the dull mundanity he was supposed to crave back in his life.

“What?” Grant grunted gruffly, squinting at the sheet and hoping he looked like he was doing something really important instead of trying to figure out if some two cent jewelry was actually stolen or just eaten by Mrs. Higgen’s cat.

“Keep talking to me.” The Kid demanded but his voice had taken up that soft, unsettled edge once more, as if Grant’s voice had been the only thing keeping him out of the dark edges of his mind.

Grant should really say no, or at least question the request…

The man tossed the earring quest aside with an absent flick, anything had to better than that. “So tell me, Kid,” The man began, decidedly not thinking about why he’d agreed without so much as a fight. “I’ve been after you for years,” The sheriff continued then paused a breath to reflect on his own words, feeling a hot blush creep up the back of his neck that the sly smirk the outlaw was currently giving him did nothing to help.

“Tell me,” Grant moved on with a curt cough. “How did Reid manage to do what I couldn’t?” The sheriff asked, frustrated and perturbed with the nagging question nipping at the back of his mind.

“Well, Sheriff,” The Kid drawled slowly, bending over to grab his left leg as he spoke. The outlaw then drug the limb up and flopped it on the bench with an obvious flinch, his teeth visibly grating even from where Grant sat as the boy grabbed the bloodied pant leg and delicately pulled it back with concerning care.

“You usually don’t start shooting.” The Kid sighed tiredly, his face twisting into an ill grimace as he blinked down at his bloodied mess of a shin.