"You could do a lot of good at Glynco," the younger marshal agreed. His voice sliding into the 'old soul' tone that surfaced, when the weight of experience he shouldn't have came to the fore.

"Those skills you're talking about, teaching the next generations of Marshals? You're going to save some lives without ever being present." Lives of Marshals and of the people those young men and women would be protecting.

"I ain't suggesting you turn in your badge, Raylan. I known damn good and well we're going to be putting that thing on top of your coffin when the time comes. And I know you got enemies. Just suggesting that there's no need for you to go gathering any more."

Tim fell quiet then, trying to imagine a life like that for himself. His pinkie curled a little tighter around Raylan's as he peeked under rugs he's thrown down over ugly mental scars when he'd gotten out of the Army.

"I'd have to do some real thinking, Handsome." The word slipped out. "But you challenge me with those words and I can't say that I kneejerk hate the idea. Think there may come a time, if I can get through all the shit in my head without self destructing, I might want to get away from the mad minute."

Teaching hadn't ever occurred to him until this conversation. But now that he'd voiced the idea, gotten a small taste, the idea didn't suck.