Grant groaned, bringing a hand up to the side of his head only to recoil sharply as his fingertips brushed a swelling lump, sending a sharp jolt of flaming pain searing through him. His head pounded, a dull, constant throb slamming behind his eyes as if someone had replaced his brain for an iron hammer and made his temple the forge.

Yet, all he found he truly felt was crashing, unsteadying relief, the light feeling swelling through him to leave him nearly lightheaded in its wake.

That was, until a light chuckle swept through his senses, bringing his reeling mind to a crashing halt.

Grant pushed himself off the floor and scrambled to his feet before he could think, a horrible decision that sent his aching head cartwheeling into the seventh inner circle of hell. The man’s eyes instantly locked to the shady outline of someone leaned against the cell door, the shadow lithe and captivating, pretty form and distinctive angles well pronounced against the dull light of the lamp flickering faintly in the far corner.

The Kid had reclaimed his hat and tilted his head so its curved brim guarded his eyes from the light, leaving stark shadows playing across his sharply lit face that wavered and changed in the warm flame. He spun the jailhouse keys around a single long finger left lingering down near his waist, metal jingling teasingly as he brought the thing around in slow circles. Even in the gloom, Grant was able to see the beginnings of a smile playing out over the boy’s lip under the crusting of dried blood still marring the pink flesh.

“What are you doing here?” The sheriff demanded, pushing aside his pounding headache to start towards the door, thoughts reeling a mile a minute.

“I think the question we should all be asking is, what are you doing in there, sheriff?” The outlaw purred, grabbing the keys in his hand to stop the slow twirling with a noisy clatter. He turned, bringing up a hand to wrap slow, delicate fingers around a long metal bar as he leaned forward, face coming to hover just inches away from the iron.

“Think I should be asking you that, Kid.” Grant shot back, pressing up against the bars with a low growl building in the back of his throat.

“Don’t play dumb with me, lawman.” The outlaw tsked lightly. “You and I both know you ain’t stupid.” The boy continued slowly, dragging himself a little closer to the cell so that his slender hips nearly pressed against the bars. “You wanna know what I think?” The fugitive whispered, dropping his voice so that only Grant could hear the hot breath of air ghosting between his busted lips.

“What do you think, outlaw?” Grant drawled with a gravel to his tone, narrowing his stormy eyes at the boy through the bars.

“I think you let me outta there, Sheriff.” The Kid breathed softly, sweet drawl honeying the words so that they dripped like sugar from his lips.

“I think you’re full of shit.” Grant scoffed immediately, crossing his arms over his chest with a snort as if humored by the ridiculous notion.

“Is that so? ‘Cause you wanna know what I really think, Sheriff?” The outlaw asked quietly, leaning in so that his lips nearly brushed the bars. “I think you like me.” The Kid whispered like it was a dirty secret, letting caramel eyes slip nearly closed so he watched the man from under long lashes as he breathed the words.

“Maybe I just wanna be the one to catch you.” Grant countered in a low draw, leaning forward until he too was pressed flesh against the metal gate. He could feel the Kid’s hot breath ghost across his skin through the barrier, warm and fluttering. The outlaw was close enough Grant could nearly lean in and capture his cunning lips if he’d only tried.

The fugitive pulled back, pushing off the cell with a lawless grin and a mischievous glimmer striking through his eyes as if the wild wind itself had been stolen from the sky and put into his smile. “Maybe next time, sheriff.” The boy purred in a honey drawl and was gone from the door in the same breath, pausing only to let the jail keys fall from his fingertips with a noisy clatter before vanishing like mist over the water.

“Jesus!” Grant spat at nothing, slamming a fist into the metal of the gate and growling at the ground as he tried to get a handle on himself. His heart pounded in his throat and his breath caught right beside it, leaving him nearly shaking with the strength of it all as the memory of the outlaw’s breath against his skin played through his mind like a ghost. He was so close. Grant could nearly picture what it would have felt like to lean just that much farther and feel his lips press against the boy’s soft mouth again.

The lawman shook his head and bit his lip to keep from groaning. It was gonna be hard enough to explain why he was sitting in a jail cell with no outlaw to show for it when Reid came back - He didn’t want to have to explain an obvious bulge in his pants on top of it.

Luckily, it didn’t take too awful long for Gavin to actually show up. The man stepped into the jailhouse, full vicious sneer in place, lips twisted into a victorious snarl and eyes blazing with cruel malice and the most stomach turning hint of excitement gleaming in their cold depths.

Watching it slowly slip away into silent, baffled, disbelief was worth the migraine anyday.

Unfortunately, Grant had only had his freedom for about an hour when he found himself summoned to the mayor’s office downtown. From one Reid straight to another... Yippee ki yay.

The man came to stand just before the elaborately designed building with a feeling of dull acceptance settling into his gut, a heavy weight that sat in his stomach and slowly expanded until it felt like it was going to swallow him whole. Patriotic colored banners draped from the front porch in elegant folds and swung merrily in a soft breeze, their bright colors nothing but a mockery of the dismal mood Grant felt settle in as he made his way to the front door and pushed his way inside.

The familiar face of the man behind the throne glanced up from whatever document he’d been scanning at the sound of the door, brown eyes detached and emotionless as they fell on Grant and flitted over his face momentarily. “Ah, Sheriff Carson. Come in.” The man invited as if Grant had a choice in the matter, straightening up in a large, padded chair behind a crowded desk and pushing a stack of messy paper off to the side.

Grant bit back a sigh and did as he was told, stalking slowly across the wooden floor until he came to stand just before the mayor’s overcrowded desk. Papers, pens, and everything of the sort lay scattered around the top of the thing in utter disarray and all of it looked as boring as death having a smoke. Well, save for the ancient looking pamphlet for the Wild Stallion shoved haphazardly under an old book, that was, of course. The paper was old and yellowing with age, nearly falling apart where it sat. Grant likely wouldn’t have even noticed it had the corner left out not been showing that same, oddly familiar looking girl he’s noticed in the oil painting - But hey, everyone had needs, the lawman supposed. Who was he to judge? Hell, he’d nearly shoved his tongue down a fugitive's throat naught but a few hours ago.

“Have a seat, sir.” The mayor offered, gesturing at a crude wooden chair across from the desk that looked like a medieval torture chamber in comparison to his own posh seat with its thick, luxurious cushions and elaborate trim.

Grant wordlessly complied, letting himself fall heavily into the chair without complaint even as his stomach roiled and twisted with violent discomfort. For some odd reason, he felt almost out of place in the room. Like he’d somehow grown distant from the rest of the town and its people and had no place with it anymore; and the mayor’s office only seemed to embody the sensation of subtle exclusion. Not to mention something about the man himself just seemed to sit wrong with the sheriff… Though he couldn’t say he’d ever noticed the odd feeling before.

“I believe you know why you’re here already, sir.” The mayor began, shooting Grant one of those election winning smiles as the lawman gave a slow acknowledging nod. It looked fake in his mouth and the sheriff found himself staring at the empty hole where a glimmering white tooth had once been, now empty and gaping into abysmal black.

“As you well know, the scourge on our fair land that escaped this evening as been plaguing the good people for years.” The man began, cold disgust creeping into his voice. “And for many a long year, you have been charged with the noble duty of protecting this town. Yet, this disgraceful mockery of our good way of life still roams free.” The mayor went on slowly, voice frigid as the desert wind and empty as the gap left where a tooth should have been.

“I know, sir-” Grant began but the man across from him held up a hand, stopping any further explanation before the sheriff could even begin.

“Mr. Carson, I won’t drag this out any longer than it has to be.” The mayor drew out slowly, his voice chiding as if he were scolding a misbehaving child rather than speaking to a fully grown adult man. Well, at least they could agree on something - Grant wanted nothing less than to linger in this office any longer than he needed to.

“To make this quick: You’re fired.”