"Can't argue that." It does fit him, like it's just part and parcel of his head, the way Doc's is. Some men put on a hat like that and it wears them instead of the other way around, but she's only known Raylan Givens a brief while and already can't imagine seeing him without it. It'd be like him losing that lazy drawl to his voice or the ranging distance to his strides.

The usually ever-present mildness is gone, though; some mask has gotten partially torn away. She likes it; she recognizes it. She feels the same way: like this attack has made some deep core of herself surface. I'm not a killer, she'd told Doc, but she can't deny the hard cold nugget of satisfaction that's coming from giving these assholes the fight they'd asked for. "There are people I need to check on."

Tommy was okay when she left, or she wouldn't have left, but March is here in Milton, and so is Kate. So is Little, and they have a deal, a promise to look out for each other, one she's not going to break today. She glances around, checking for enemies, every part of her on high alert, before she nods to the nail-studded bat. "Classic. And efficient."